Gâchette Noir
by GorgyPorgyGregoria
Summary: Exchanges in smoky bars, suspicious murders to be solved, and one dirty politician; all this seems to be the situation at hand for our Disney Renaissance heroes (plus more). With twists, turns, thefts, secrets and the same ol' jazz song, leading only to more -can our heroes uncover and take down the truth that ties them all together? Mild language.
1. Prologue: The Pull

"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell."  
― Oscar Wilde

Prologue: The Pull

The plan was simple. Get in, disable the security system, grab the documents, and then put the alarm back up as if they weren't there at all. Or at least that was what Megera had told Flynn -she didn't mention that he was to sit outside on standby in case something went wrong. If he had to be completely honest, it felt more like he was the watch dog while she got what they needed.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Flynn pulled out his trusty pack of cancer sticks, and popped one in his mouth, lighting it with the nice Zippo lighter Meg had lifted off a particular greasy looking biker back when they used to be more than just partners. He sucked in the tobacco smoke and breathed out; not only did it taste great but felt great too. A bit of nostalgia hit him as he watched the pavement glisten with the late night fog that had settled around him.

He hadn't been back in the city for more than a day when Meg had called him up with a job. A job -she assured him- that would get him in deep with some big money and steady work and no need to leave town when it was all through; as long his skills were required. Always one up for an adventure that led to big money, Flynn agreed, not really hearing the details.

"And now here I sit, regretting every second of it," he sighed, taking in another drag and letting out the smoke and watching it mix into the thick fog. He hadn't noticed his old partner slide into place beside him, her face pulled into a mask of irritation.

"What are you bitching about now?" she asked in her low husky voice.

"GAH!" Flynn yelped, dropping his cigarette on the ground. "Aw, man, I barely got started on that too!"

Meg rolled her large velvety purple eyes, "I thought you quit," and proceeded forward, not looking back. She was always like that, either you kept up, or she left you behind.

Flynn followed effortlessly, they may have been almost the same height –she was an inch or two smaller- but he was still faster than she was. Where she was the expert in getting people to giving her things by asking nicely with little lies and promises, he was good at taking and running the hell out of there.

"And I thought you said I had bigger job in all this instead of just sitting and waiting in the cold," he complained.

With that Meg stopped and looked around casually before looking at him, she unzipped her black leather, "You do, you're making the drop for me."

Flynn followed her suit of casualness and unzipped his own, but he couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. He hissed, "What!"

Meg began to smooth her hands down his shirt under his leather jacket, her right hand hesitating slightly on the butt of the gun he kept concealed under his jacket. Then she leaned in whispering quickly in his ear, while sliding what felt like a folder from her jacket into his, placing it securely where his gun pressed against him to keep it from falling out, "I'm being followed. Drop this off at the shipyard near the Pier. There will be a man dressed in black waiting for you when you get there. Give this to him, and then meet me at our usual place."

And before he had time to give her a signal that he understood, she clocked him in the jaw with her dainty, yet powerful left fist. "And don't ever follow me again, asshole! I told you before! We're through!"

Clutching his jaw, he watching as she stormed across the street and the fog engulf her tiny figure. Exactly two seconds after she had disappeared, he watched twin like figures followed her, quick and slippery like eels. Flynn turned and started tugging his zipper up as he continued down the path to his beat up deep green 1970s Oldsmobile. Meg was a big girl, and knew how to take care of herself; he knew -when he first set eyes on her- that this was a girl who was never a damsel in distress. He didn't need to worry about her -she knew how to get herself out of situations easily.

He got to his car, and waiting for a minute or two before starting it up. He drove, taking his dear sweet time in case he too was being followed. When he was 100% certain he wasn't, he made his exit leading to the shipyard, pulling into the first aisle of large containers.

And so he waited, until a rap on his passenger window had him looking at a long triangular shaped face, with a hooked nose attached to it, cold onyx eyes and a twisted smile that Flynn knew as trouble. Flynn reached over and opened the door for this man, knowing that he had to be the one Meg mentioned, but to be certain…

Flynn did the once over, noticing the man's black on black three piece suit, it was as if he was dressed for a funeral. But the air around him was that of a business man who didn't mind using a few dirty tricks to get what he wanted. Instantly, Flynn had wondered what sort of trouble Meg had gotten herself into.

"Hello, Flynn Rider, I believe you have something for me," the man said.

Flynn raised a skeptical eyebrow, he wasn't about to make a rookie mistake and hand over the documents until he was certain that this was the man he was supposed to meet.

When the man realized that Flynn didn't trust him, his smile tightened, making Flynn realize that he wasn't a patient person.

"Boy does Meg know how to pick 'em," the man sighed to himself. "Look buddy, the quicker you hand over the documents, the quicker we can both get out of here."

"That would be all well and good," Flynn said lazily, realizing that he could have the upper hand, "but how do I know I can trust you?"

The man's eyes went from cold to deadly quick, and the smile on his lips held a sort of dark humor that clouded his face as the cool barrel of the man's gun was pointed at Flynn's face before Flynn could get his, "You don't. Now give me the documents."

Not ready to lose his head, Flynn handed over the papers. With the gun still pointed at Flynn's face the man plucked them from his hands with no sense of urgency, he took his eyes off Flynn, and breathed, "Good girl," under his breath and looked back up at Flynn, holstering the gun, and replacing his deadly mask with his cold and civil one, he also didn't make a move to leave Flynn's car.

"Now," the man said as if he had all the time in the world, "let's talk business. I'm willing to offer you 20% for every job I throw your way. Granted, you get them done quickly and with ZERO problems."

Flynn pulled a face, "You're the man that's offering the job?"

"I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I?" the man said, following it with a civil chuckle, as if he hadn't threatened Flynn with a gun a few moments ago, "My name is Hades, and I want to recruit you for my little business."

"What sort of business would that be?" Flynn asked, sounding dumb, even to him.

Hades' smile broadened, "Secrets. I'm what the bigwigs call in when they want things done under the table. Of course, I don't do things for free; I start off about a mill a job, depending on the urgency and danger of it."

Flynn looked at Hades, and he began to wonder how Meg could have ever got caught up with this guy. The danger he possessed was stinking up his car. Yet 20% of $1 million… Flynn looked around his beat up two-seater Oldsmobile and his slightly worn down clothes, comparing it to Hades' clean-cut and sharp look.

"I'm willing to negotiate 45% of whatever the jobs offer."

Hades smile was bigger than Flynn had ever seen it since they started talking; and quickly Flynn was wondering what he was getting himself into.

"Now that's the spirit."

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, there, Gregoria here!

I know this story is a bit unorthodox to be done Disney characters, but this is the result of enough fanfictions, film noir and enough Humphrey Bogart to make me realize that these characters would fit together for this story. At first I was hesitant to do it, but with enough coaxing and support from **Suzerenma** I decided to stick my neck out there and give it a try. It's my first fanfic, so please be kind. Please let me know what you think, and I'll look forward to writing out more.

This goes without saying, but this is a fan-based work, I own no characters in this story and write it purely out of enjoyment.


	2. For All You Jazz Lovers

"What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence. The question is what can you make people believe you have done."  
― Arthur Conan Doyle, _A Study in Scarlet_

Chapter 1: For all you Jazz Lovers.

The steady tone of the saxophone wafted through the partially empty bar. Except for the usual patrons, the bar was dead. It was forgivable, seeing that it was a Sunday night, and people would have been home to enjoy their families' company. Tiana knew that tonight was going to be a rough night for tips, but as she kept telling herself every night as she dragged her half exhausted self through her door way, every penny counted.

As the music progressed, Tiana got a little pang in her heart as the blues gave her a remembrance of home. She leaned herself against the bar shelves full of the different assortments of alcohol, and closed her eyes. It had been a little over a year since she left the southern comfort of New Orleans, Louisiana for laidback California. She had entered the Culinary program with a partial scholarship, but Culinary school was expensive, and paying off the loans to compensate rest of the tuition was more than what her mother could pay for. So Tiana took it upon herself to work three jobs while juggling her school life. It wasn't as if she was complaining, sure, she didn't have much of a social life, but she liked hard work; growing up watching her daddy work himself to the bone every day to make ends meet always struck a sense of motivation in her. Besides, hard work was never something so taxing, especially since she had a goal in mind. Once she had achieved her goal, she knew all the blood, sweat and tears, as well as the time would all pay itself off.

Lost in thought, Tiana didn't notice a customer slid into a bar stool at the very corner close to the stage. So when she felt a heavy gaze upon her, she was startled to find a beautiful woman with long curling auburn hair, a heart shaped face with pink pouty lips and two large velvety purple eyes staring at her. Instantly, Tiana took a liking to her, she could feel the woman's air of self-independence and confidence something that Tiana admired greatly in others as well as herself.

Tiana gave a large smile, and pushed herself off the shelves, "Hi there, what can I get for ya?"

The woman didn't reciprocate the smile, but she didn't seem to have an air of hostility, just the simple ambiance of someone who was used to being a lone, and liking it that way. The woman produced a $10 bill between her index and middle finger, and with a husky voice that reminded Tiana of those Femme Fatales in film noir, she spoke, "Old fashion, on the rocks. Keep the change."

Tiana nodded, taking the bill, and turning to the shelves to grab the necessaries for her concoction, and placing them on the counter. Quickly, she produced the drink, clanking two large ice cubes into and Old Fashioned glass, and pouring in the contents. She presented it to the woman who now had her right elbow propped up on the bar, cradling her full rosy cheeks in her hand, her slender and delicate fingers curling slightly as she watched the saxophone player threw himself into a long heart-wrenching note.

"Here ya are!" Tiana said brightly, startling the woman in turn, she perked up, and gave a ghost of a smile to Tiana, taking her drink and sipping. She closed her eyes, and her lips curled into the first official smile Tiana had seen her make.

"This has got to be the best I've had so far," she said more to herself.

"Oh, it's nothin'. Mixing drinks is a whole lot easier than baking a soufflé."

The woman raised an eyebrow, "Are you a baker?"

Tiana gave a shrug, "I go more along the lines of chef in trainin', but I do enjoy baking."

The woman cocked her head to the side, "So what is a 'chef in training' doing behind a bar?"

"The tips are way better," Tiana explained as the saxophone player blasted one last mournful note before changing his tune to something a little more upbeat.

The woman lifted her glass to her lips, "Must be nice to earn an honest living."

It was Tiana's turn to lift an eyebrow, she gave a nervous laugh, "A nice girl like you? I doubt you find yourself in troublin' and dangerous situation often."

The woman put down her glass softly and with her velvety purple eyes, and all the intensity that was enough to make Tiana blush, the woman spoke, "It's always the nice seeming ones you have to be wary about."

Tiana wanted to laughed, and laughed hard; this woman seemed to have a flare for drama, it was hard not to laugh, "I'm sorry, sweetie, I just don' see it."

Instead of getting upset the woman shrugged, and took another sip, "So I take it you're not from here?"

Tiana could tell the woman was finished talking about herself, and she hoped that she didn't strike a nerve, so she went a long with the subject change, "Nope, I'm a born and bred girl from Louisiana."

"How does a chef in training, bartender from Louisiana find herself in the Golden State of Califonia."

Tiana smirked, "Chef school."

The woman nodded, and took another sip, "This isn't you're only job is it?"

"How'd you know?"

"You're tired expression and haggard appearance."

"That obvious?"

The woman shrugged, and waited for Tiana to answer the question.

"I'm working a diner job in the morning, classes in the afternoon, a restaurant Monday through Wednesday nights and this bar for Thursday through Sunday nights."

The woman gave a whistle, "That's impressive."

"You have no idea, I'm always so surprised how I can make it through each day."

"You seem to be doing fine," the woman replied, and downed the rest of her drink.

"Want another?" Tiana asked, taking her glass and putting it in the washer under the bar, watching as she shook her head.

"Later, but thank you."

"So what is a pretty girl like you doing sitting alone in a bar on a Sunday night?" Tiana asked.

As the woman was about to answer, but a voice cut through, causing Tiana to jump. "Oh, she's not alone. She was just waiting for her devilishly handsome friend."

The woman rolled her eyes at the new handsome arrival. He was tall, from what Tiana could tell, he had a long pointed face, a strong jaw a dazzling smile, dark lashed chocolate eyes that was any girls' envy, and eyebrows too perfect not to be done. His short brown hair was tamed, save for his bangs that seem to frame his boyish good looks, and a small beard starting at his chin and ending before his neck.

"I'll take that second drink now, it's on him."

"Really?" The man said in disbelief, when his friend said nothing he heaved a sigh, and gave Tiana his card, "I'll just have scotch, your finest if you please."

"Comin' right up," Tiana said with a wink, and began to work her magic. Their voices were lowered, but Tiana could still make out their conversation. Her momma always told her that eavesdropping what a nasty habit to pick up, but compared to the slow night Tiana was having, they were the closes to entertain she had had for hours, and she felt that she desperately needed that.

"I take it we have our mark," the woman said, trying her best to seem like it was a casual conversation between friends, and Tiana would have believed it, if she wasn't listening intently.

"We do, we also got another partner to worry about." The male companion said, leaning back on the bar counter, his elbows propped up, and watching the saxophone player pick up a little jive in his hips with the short fast notes he was producing.

"Please don't tell me it is _him_." she said the last word as if it were something bitter in her mouth.

"He's the best of the best."

"Save it, Rider, he almost got us killed last time, remember?"

The one named Rider just shrugged, "But he got us out of it, didn't he?"

Tiana poured Rider's scotch and the woman's Old Fashioned and placed it in front of them, "Would you like me to keep a tab open?"

The pair of them looked at Tiana, as if realizing they weren't the only ones.

Rider winked, "Sure thing."

"Right then," and Tiana began to shuffle around to make herself look busy, and they continued on as if they were the only two in the bar.

"So, are you in, or aren't you?" Rider finally asked after a moment of silence.

"He really wouldn't give me much of a choice, would he?" something dark clouded her face, as she looked into her glass, the ice shifting as it melted.

"You know how much he relies on you."

She scowled and looked up at her friend, "It's the price we pay for making a deal with the Lucifer himself."

At this point, Tiana's fingers had slipped, and she dropped the glass she was cleaning, causing the odd pair to look up and stare at her.

Tiana muttered her apologies, and quickly grabbed the glass. "Sorry, slippery fingers, and all."

"No prob," Rider was back to his debonair self, as if he wasn't talking about something serious this whole time. "You mind if we close that tab?"

"Sure thing," Tiana said, and turned her back to use the register. She silently hoped that she would hear more of their conversation, but she knew that they wouldn't, not until they were in the secrecy of each other. Tiana ripped the receipt out of the machine, and turned to hand Rider his card and copies to be signed. She watched as he put his card in his wallet, and downed his scotch before signing. When he was finished she picked up the receipt, and turned to stick it with the others. When she turned to clear off the bar counter, they were gone, and right away, Tiana noticed a napkin with graceful handwriting on it.

"_From one hard working gal to another. Good luck in the world, Chef-in-Training. Keep the change. –Meg_"

When Tiana looked down, she saw $100 bill staring back at her. Picking up the bill, Tiana looked up in vain, wondering if they were still around. Timidly, Tiana tucked the bill into her black apron pocket, and began to clear. Erasing the traces of Rider and the mysterious Meg, the bar was back to its slow and usual self; as if those two hadn't been sitting there exchanging a secretive plan. Tiana sighed, she began to think of the odds of such excitement happening again. How different her life would be, if she lived a life as exciting as the duo. Tiana shook her head. She liked her life just fine. And nothing was going to change that, but it didn't stop the little feeling of jealousy of such freedom from getting to her. She shook her head.

_You're fine just where you are, darlin'_, she told herself, _Just think of what, daddy would have done._

Tiana smiled, she knew life had plenty in-store for her, she just had to be patient.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello again. Another day, another chapter. For future notice, I won't be updating so quickly. It's just that I wrote this chapter before my prologue (which btw took place months before this chapter. Just so there is no confusion). For those that notice, yes, that was a movie quote and I am going to try to slip those little easter eggs in there as best I can. I just have to find the "opportune moment" to do so...

Please, please, PLEASE review and let me know what you think. I'd like to know if it sucks so bad that I should pull it or not. So please, no drive-by reading. I would really appreciate a review.

My thanks to **Suzerenma** my constant, constant support. I love you mucho and that doesn't even cover HALF of what I feel.

With out say; I own no characters in the making of this fanfic.


	3. Reasons to Despise

"It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words."  
― Anne Rice, _The Queen of the Damned_

Chapter 2: A Reason to Despise.

The cool January air was the first to greet Detective Mulan Hua as she opened the door to her midnight blue 2012 Dodge Charger. She switched off the lights, and prepped herself for the walk up. This was one of many parts of her job that she didn't enjoy, not knowing what to expect. She always thought that it would get easier each time she walked up to a crime scene, but the weight of not knowing what to expect made the walk worse and it was everything she could not to run to the crime scene, so not to cause a panic. Her mentor Mushu had told her that the walk up would always be the worse and that all she had to do was to take a deep breath and take a few moments to prep herself before going out there.

She closed her eyes, and breathed in the sharp scent of winter and stepped out of her car. Locking it as she began to walk, willing herself not to run.

"You got here fast," her partner Eric Saylor commented, jogging lightly to keep up with her. He was a handsome tall man with a lean figure, he had told her when they first started working together that he was in the Navy before joining the police force, which explained why his sea-green eyes held a certain seriousness to them even if his face was softened with his boyish laughter. It was the sort of seriousness that turned the playful boy into a man. It was also the sort of seriousness that made him an amazing detective and a fantastic partner.

Mulan just shrugged at him, "I was at a family dinner when I got the call."

"Which explains the perfume," Eric said, earning him a half-hearted glare from his partner.

"My grandmother attacked me with a bottle of something she got at a kiosk at the mall today. I think the ambush was a vain attempt to turn me into a girl," she told him. Eric tried to stifle his laughter as the two flashed their badges at the uniform outside the tape that closed off the crime scene. The uniform lifted the tape for them slightly, and they ducked under the rest of the way. Righting themselves, they took in the scene, eyes peeled, and ears straining for anything that was off.

This was the moment where Mulan stopped being whatever she was in the world, and started being who she was in real life; a detective.

It was a typical jewel heist gone wrong, except that nothing was reported stolen, and three bodies laid dead cold in the shop. Mulan noted that the jewelry shop was one story building crammed between two brick buildings that were three stories long. The crime scene tape had only surrounded the building from the front door to where the sidewalk met the street. She also noted that all the glass to the store, including the glass on the door was intact. The closer they came to the open door, she noted that the lock was not broken.

"No force of entry," Mulan muttered, "they had to have been staking this place out, and known about a back door."

"So… what? You think the fourth partner got antsy and shot everyone?"

"We don't know if he took anything though," Mulan said, watching as forensics walked around the store, taking pictures and scribbling down the data they found, "They said everything was accounted for when they got to the scene, so something must have gone seriously wrong."

"Cold feet?"

"Possibly, but I doubt it. If you've been watching the place and planning the heist it can take a month, or less; more than enough time to find people who would be willing to do this job with no hesitation. My money is on something went really wrong."

"Well," Eric said, putting his hands in his pocket, "There's only one way to find out," he walked in front of her, "we examine the bodies."

Mulan tried not to heave a heavy sigh. This was always the most frustrating and gut-jerking part: pretending the bodies weren't real. If she registered the bodies as real she would probably puke, or worse; cry. Hard working detectives didn't cry or puke, especially if they were females. Mulan closed her eyes, and gulped down her stomach and followed her partner in suit.

The forensic coroner was going over the details with Eric as Mulan came up to the back wall of the store. It looked as if someone had took all three of them by surprise, the first two were faced down, the closest body to Mulan was leaning over a display case, the bullet entry was covered by his short black hair. His face in a pool of his own blood dripping from the case, some of it seeping through the crack of his impact, and into the jewelry now stained with blood. The other two victims looked like they were a bit more cautious and tried to make their way to the back way. Obviously, the second vic couldn't make it and he was spread eagle, face down on the floor, he had two bullet holes, the second one centered where his heart would be. Mulan looked up to the third victim, and she sucked in a breath. The third, who was slumped against the doorframe of the back entry, had a bullet in his stomach and another in between the eyes… but that wasn't what had caused Mulan's eyes to go wide and her heart skip a beat.

"May I touch the bodies?" Mulan asked, stopping the coroner in the middle of his speech.

With annoyance clear in his voice, he nodded, "Just don't muddle the things with your fingerprints, Detective Hua."

Ignoring the undertone insult, Mulan grabbed latex gloves that Eric was handing her, and walked over to the first victim. She tugged on the gloves as she hovered over the first body, lightly pulling down the back collar of the shirt and lifting the hair, revealing a tattoo of a jagged sword cutting across the Chinese character for Falcon, a tattoo she knew all too well. She moved from the first body to the one on the ground, squatting as she checked the neck first, then the right forearm finding a similar tattoo. She looked up at Eric, her eyes silently letting him understand how much trouble they were in for.

"I'll get a few uniforms to scan the parameter, and question the neighbors," he said after a few moments, then he turned to the forensic coroner. "Have we ID'd the victims?"

* * *

Mulan had recalled the first homicide crime scene she had ever been too. She was only a rookie fresh out of the Police Academy then. She had been one of the first on the scene and she could recall the fresh cries and wails as she saw a blood stained doll and a little girl no older than six staring straight at her with unseeing eyes, a trail of blood escaping her mouth.

At first she thought that the odd sensation bubbling was a threaten of bile; but instead she felt the searing hot angry flow through her veins. It was revolting. She remembered the tear streaked face of the mother as she pleaded with –just a detective then- Shang Li to find whoever was responsible for her little girl's death. Weeks had gone by and Shang had gotten very close to understanding who the culprit was. Mulan had a moment of peace in her heart until one day she had found Shang in the evidence room, staring blindly at the gun whose stray bullet had killed the little girl. It was tagged and bagged but there Shang sat, as if he had been waiting to reveal some truth to him. When he realized that he wasn't alone, he unveiled the whole awful reality to her. The gun had belonged to a crony who worked for very powerful man by the name of Yu Shan. Shan was the head to an underground drug trafficking group called Huī Sǔn –or Grey Falcon. They had recently begun to expand their organization from trafficking drugs to people. Shang could have easily taken in the crony, but he knew that it wouldn't have stopped there, he had to capture Yu Shan and the rest of the head honchos of Grey Falcon. Shang would have been happy to catch every single one of them, but the organization's roots had been so deep that their "clients" were wealthy and well influenced in the world.

"I can't fucking touch him," Shang had told Mulan in a very quiet voice, he's blank stare had turned into a full out glare. Mulan had felt his anger as she had struggled to find the right words that would help.

"We can always try to bring down the organization from the inside," Mulan had said causing Shang to look up to her as if he had seen her for the first time since she had come in. His head shake was short and abrupt.

"He's dangerous, I'm not going to ask people to sacrifice themselves for a suicide mission," he had told her.

After that day Shang had gathered all the evidence and brought in the killer, and Mulan had watched as he forced a confession out of him. After that, the parents were contacted and the case was closed. But the bitter taste of what both Shang and Mulan knew was like ash in their mouths. From that moment on, Mulan was fueled to work hard, applying to be a detective. When Shang had been promoted to Captain, they both had a secret understanding that they would do whatever it took to bring down the Grey Falcon. Whatever it took…

* * *

The precinct was fairly empty, save for a few officers at their desk finishing up their reports, and their boss, Captain Shang Li who was just about to get ready to go. Mulan and Eric stepped into his office as he slipped his left arm through his jacket sleeve.

"I take it the case is going well?" he asked, lifting his eye brow at the two, as Mulan firmly shut the blinds, and Eric leaned against a nearby file cabinet.

"Sir, something isn't right about this case," Mulan started when she was certain that no one would disturb them.

Shang glanced over to Eric for embellishment, who only shrugged, indicating that he knew no more than him. "You've got five minutes, Hua."

Grateful, Mulan walked closer to his desk, and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I have reason to believe that the men who were murdered in the jewelry shop were working for Yu Shan," Mulan said, watching as Shang's face began to darken with understanding. "This was no ordinary jewel heist gone wrong, sir."

"Nor would it be," Shang whispered, eyes darting to the cabinet that Eric was leaning against.

"Wait Yu Shan, as in the leader of the Grey Falcon, Yu Shan?" Eric sputtered, uncrossing his arms, his face pure white with shock. "How can you be sure?"

Mulan glanced up at her partner, remembering that he was there, "The tattoos on the victims. Only members of the Grey Falcon would get tattoos. Furthermore, only those loyal to Yu Shan would have a tattoo of the character 'Falcon' with a jagged sword through it."

Eric slumped back, finally understanding the seriousness of the situation, "What do we do?"

Shang was the first to speak up, standing his face stern, "We tell no one what we know. Someone will notice the tattoo and connect the dots. We can't have someone accidentally stumbling upon that. I'm assigning only you and people I trust to this case. This goes without say, you two: We do not speak about this to anyone outside those working the case. Understand?"

"Why all the secrets?" Eric asked, pretty sure that it was a dumb question.

"Because," Mulan said, staring her partner straight in the eyes, "For the first time, someone screwed up, and Yu Shan wasn't fast enough to clean up the mess."

"This precinct has spies and we can't have them going back to Shan it they suspect we're on to them," Shang continued for Mulan.

"Okay, great, I understand that," Eric said, "but that opens up the question, just what are we going to do?"

Mulan and Shang shared a very long look, and a similar triumphant smile appeared on both their lips as they looked at Eric.

"We're going to bring the Grey Falcon down in flames."

* * *

**A/N: **I was on a roll when I wrote this chapter. But I believe that things are blossoming nicely. I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter, not just because it was Mulan and Eric working together, but because I love a good detective story as the next person. Anyone ever watch _Castle_? That's one of my favorite shows and maybe the slight inspiration for this chapter. Minus all the innuendo and such.

Can't wait to see you guy's reaction to this one. I hope it wasn't too dark for you.

Thank you for my readers and followers, and to **Suzrenema**who keeps telling me to keep it up. I certainly will!


	4. Stick to the Plan

"He who has overcome his fears will truly be free."  
― Aristotle

Chapter 3: Stick to the Plan.

Megera Celosia (Meg if you please) could feel the eyes of every straight male in the lounge. It was the sort of attention that she couldn't blame -she was sexy with the right twist of mysterious. It had nothing to do with vanity or ego boosts, but rather, the pure knowledge that she knew what she looked like on the outside and how everyone perceived her. She never really believed in being humble, or beating around the bush for compliments, it was too tedious and quite frankly, annoying. Maybe that was what had attracted her ex-asshole-con-artist-boyfriend, Adonis to her. He saw something promising in her that he could mold and shape, like Pygmalion did with Galatea. So now, she made sure that she gave a promise of dangerous fun to anyone who dared to approach her. But tonight she had her sights set on one man; Naveen Maldonia.

Normally, Meg didn't like the fun loving, carefree, rich playboys –and that opinion hadn't changed. It was just her _boss_, Hades, wanted something from him. Meg wanted to question the motives for gaining the layout and keycard to Naveen's father's enterprise: Maldonia Legacy, but she was getting paid a hefty sum to get the job done –so she wasn't going to complain. The company -in question- started off as a simple electricity company that branched out to cars, to electronics, and now there was a rumor that they would deal a hand into real estate. Needless to say, Maldonia Legacy was a very, very powerful company and the son and heir to such power sat not too far away from Meg -lounging carelessly in a corner both. He had a redhead leaning into his left arm and a brunette on his right and a few blondes scattering around him that were trying to get his attention.

Meg sipped her dry martini and popped the olive in her mouth, enjoying the burn of the alcohol slid down her throat. She spied the bar-shelves' mirror for her partners for the night -Flynn and Jack. Granted, she really didn't need the ladder to help gain Naveen's trust, but Jack was good at coming up with last minute plans that seemed only plausible to gullible people –also, Hades hated loose ends, so this was going to be a one night job and Jack was good at planning for those too.

"If we weren't on a job and every guy wasn't looking at you as if you were dinner, I'd show you a good time," Flynn drawled, as he sat in the stool next to her, leaning into the bar and looking forward and not directly at her. He kept a polite distance and immediately they did their 'strangers exchanging pleasantries' routine.

"Last time I checked, _Eugene_," she emphasized on his real naming, knowing that it made him cringe inside as he gave a tight smile outwardly, "scaling skyscrapers just to get to a vault with some 'old crack's' rare jewels, is not my idea of fun."

"You promised not to call me that," Flynn hissed, ordering his usual; scotch.

Meg turned martini glass in hand, her back and elbows resting on the bar as she scanned for the third person to their little party. "Where's the drunk?"

Flynn kept his head bowed as he addressed Meg, "No clue. Last I check he looked as if he were checking a way to duck out early."

Meg nodded and took another sip, ready to turn her large, seductive velvet purple eyes on Naveen. "Alright," she nodded as he locked eyes with her from across the way. An easy smile began to spread across his lips as he lifted his glass of bourbon her direction.

"It's show time," Flynn said watching from the mirror, "Good luck."

Meg smiled coyly, turning to Flynn as she grabbed her clutch purse with the Beretta gun –always a must have in case things went south- and drink, "I don't need luck. Just a shorter skirt and a lower bodice."

Flynn laughed to himself as Meg's four inch shoes clicked with each step she made towards Naveen. She could see the excitement twinkle in his eyes with each centimeter she closed between them. She was like a magnetic pull to him, the closer she got the more he pulled forward, he barely even notice the girls around him trying to gain his attention. Tossing their hair, licking their red painted lips, even lightly touching his lap, bicep or his back with their long manicured hands didn't seem to rouse him from the trance Meg had put him in. Meg licked her lips as she came only within a yard of his table. Before she had time to react, her heels has made a loud screeching noise and her drink slipped from her fingers crashing to the ground as her bare left arm was grabbed by callous hands and she was being pulled towards an exit, she gave Naveen a look of panic as she was forced to turn to face the back of the head of a certain dreadlocked drunk.

He dragged her to the emergency exit and once the cold air bit into her exposed skin and the door shut behind him did she jerk her hand away from him.

"Jesus! You didn't have to hold on that hard!" she snipped, walking over to the emergency staircase's metal bars. She looked down -it was a long drop, 24 stories to be exact. She had hoped that the screws were not loose, that would have been bad luck.

"It had to be convincing, luv," Jack said lighting up a cigarette he had stuck in his mouth when she wasn't looking.

"You seriously want to start smoking that now?" Meg growled, shaking the bars, testing its durability, and jumping to sit on it when she was certain it was secure.

Jack shrugged, "You just worry about your part," he said with his tooth smirk as he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. Before she had time to throw an insult at the drunkard, he had her by the throat and was holding her over the ground below. Instinctively she held tight to his wrists, as the emergency exit opened behind them Naveen panting and eyes widening at the scene.

"I told you," Meg gasped, making it seem believable, "I don't know anything."

Jack's black eyes didn't change, "I find that hard to believe, luv."

"Let her go!" Naveen yelled, cautious as he took a step forward.

"This ain't your fight, mate," Jack drawled, not bothering to take his eyes off Meg, "I suggest you find yourself someone else to bother."

Meg gave a pleading look Naveen's way, and Jack shook her, choking her slightly. She tightened her grip, and Jack loosed a bit.

"Look whatever it is, this isn't the answer," Naveen said calmly, hysteria bubbling under his voice.

Jack turned to look at Naveen and just as he was about to say something, Meg took her clutch, the Beretta heavy inside and whacked Jack hard over the head with it. For a moment she was afraid he wouldn't fall, until his hand released her neck and he crumpled to the floor. Meg had half a second to collect before she almost slipped, her stomach slipping with her in fear.

In a flash, Naveen caught her, tugging her towards him as he stepped over Jack's unconscious body, pressing Meg to his own as she slid off the railing.

Closing her eyes, she used the anxiety of her almost death wash over hear, and pulled back, opening her beautiful purple eyes with frantic look into Naveen's chocolate ones.

"You saved me," she breathed letting it sink into his head, then she addressed what looked like the bigger picture at hand, "We have to get out of here," she rushed, "Do you know a place nearby we can hide?"

Not sure what was happening, Naveen nodded, "My father's office isn't too far from here."

Inwardly, Meg smiled. Bingo. Outwardly, she pulled a skeptical face, "Is it safe?"

"Of course! Don't you know who I am?" Naveen asked putting on a carefree smile with his faux hurt tone.

"Look, we can sit here and play the guessing games all night, but I doubt our friend here will stay asleep for much longer," Meg insisted sweetly. Naveen nodded and he held her hand, pulling her towards the exit the three of them came through, and she stopped, "Not that way."

"Why not?" Naveen asked

"I'm sure he has friends inside. We can't let them know I got away," Meg said, wandering just how much was in that playboy head of his, and she pulled him towards the stairs, "we have to go this way."

Regretting her choice in shoes, the pair of them flew down the stairs and to his black Lotus Evora SR.

* * *

Six glasses of some extremely expensive cognac, a damsel in distress act leading into coy promises and two hours later, Meg found herself letting Flynn in so he could hack into Naveen's computer. Naveen himself was snoring lightly his face inches to the carpeted floor as his body hung loosely on the edges of his gray couch which was placed on front of the huge window overlooking the entire city in his so called "office". She was grateful that he was already drunk by the time they had reached the office; the six glasses just pushed him over the right edge of blacking out, and forgetting all about how he had gotten into the office in the first place.

It was right when he was trying to make a pass at her that he knocked out for the count, giving Meg ample time to slip on her leather gloves and pull out his key card from his very expensive Armani blazer pocket and access the real office part of his playboy pent house. She didn't have to worry about cameras either, the text she had received from Flynn before she and Naveen rolled up to the building had confirmed that the security cameras were changed with a different footage and a fake time stamp. Everything was going according to plan, and quite smoothly. In another few minutes, Meg would be free to go home and draw up a bath, hoping it would wash away exhaustion that seemed to grow within her.

"AH-HA!" Flynn exclaimed excitedly, as his gloved fingers flew expertly over the keys of the keyboard.

"Shush, will you," Meg hissed, turning to him with a glare.

Flynn waved her off, "Please, he's not going to wake up until morning, it'll take more than an army to get him up."

"What did you find?" Meg asked, ignoring his brush off.

"Floor plans," but Meg could tell that wasn't what he was excited about.

"And?" She asked impatiently, her exhaustion fed into her irritation. She wanted to go home.

"And a very, very secret bank account, with a very, very big amount of dough," the mischievous glint in Flynn's eyes made her lightly scoff and shake her head.

"We aren't stealing his money, Eugene," she said simply.

"Have you seen the Lotus he drives, Megera?" Flynn shot back.

"Of course I have, I was sitting in it not too long ago –remember?" she snapped, "Look, just nab the floor plans and let's get out of here." Meg turned to leave the room so she coulf grab that still open bottle of cognac on the coffee table in front of the couch Naveen was on. She hadn't been able to drink a drop while she was working her scam on the over privileged playboy, it tended to muddle decisions and she had needed to stay sharp. Not to mention she really didn't have the taste for the stuff –but at that very moment, she felt that the conversation with Flynn was soon to go to a place she didn't like.

"Don't you ever just want to be rid of all?" he implored quietly behind her. Meg closed her eyes as her hand hovered over the metal handle of the glass door. And there it was…

"Don't ask stupid questions," she sighed after what seemed like hours between them.

"Meg, if we take this money, we can call our own shots again… _You_ can be _free_," he pressed. The idea was not lost on her; suddenly she had a rush of what it would be like to be free –she had almost turned tell him to do it, to hit the button and empty out that bank account… but reality crashed into her senses: she knew that that was too impossible to fathom.

"He'd find me, you know he would… I can't escape –it doesn't matter how hard I try, I just can't. He _owns_ me, Flynn. So just stick to the plan." She pushed out the door before Flynn could say anything else. She knew this was the real cause of her exhaustion. She was tired of being owned, of not being her own boss, of never being able to live without _his _restraints. The fear began to grip her throat, suddenly making it difficult to breath. Making it difficult to escape –like a bird in a cage, that's all she was. And if she was ever able to escape her cage; she would just fly around free on _his_ terms, and then when he needed her, he'd capture her and stick her back in her cage.

She grabbed the bottle and didn't bother to get a glass -she drank straight out of the bottle. "I can't get out…"

* * *

**A/N: **Finally up after a very long week of cramming and prepping for finals. College is hard, but remembering French verbs is harder. Now that summer vacay is up, I can focus on myself, this fanfic and other things, but I don't promise daily releases -seeing how the mind and inspiration take some time to develop.

I certainly enjoyed writing this one. I sort of went a tad bit overboard with it and had to cut out a lot of useless crap. Overall, I'm quite satisfied with it, seeing that I got to the main point. Poor Meg is getting into a depression. She needs a change of scenery, or profession.

On a more random note, I'm running out of quotes to use for the opening of each chapter, so if you don't mind PM-ing me some good ones, I'll see if I can sneak them in. Keep on reading! Look forward to reviews.

I dissolve any claim to the characters in the making of this story.


	5. The Spoiled Prince

"I went down to the river,  
I set down on the bank.  
I tried to think but couldn't,  
So I jumped in and sank."  
― Langston Hughes

Chapter 4: The Spoiled Prince

Crashing, face first, onto the floor was the first rude awakening he had. The second was the inconstant pounding and inability to focus correctly as he tried to lift himself. Naveen Maldonia was, for all intents and purposes, hungover –although, this was nothing new.

"Damn," he groaned, dropping himself to the floor and rolling to his side. He faced what seemed to be the front of a gray couch that looked oddly familiar. He tried to focus, but his eyes were slightly dry and thinking only seemed to make things worse, not to mention the putrid smell that wafted around his mouth -which was equally as dry as his mouth- didn't make anything better. Groaning again, he gave up the effort to concentrate on anything and just let things go blank, as was his usual ritual when he woke up befuddled and sick as he was.

This had been his usual routine that it was on the cusp of becoming a religion. Wake up in the late hours of the afternoon; either drunk or with a splitting headache. Shower; grab a bite to eat, then call up some friends and party like mad, and if he was feeling particularly up to it, he would find some girls to sleep with. Then he'd wander the streets until he found a familiar place and pass out. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. It was an easy-going life and it was perfect since he was rich as hell; and that was all thanks to his father. When one's father owned half the city through business and electricity, one would live like a prince in a very high castle and mountains of gold and people to cater to him. Although, there was something empty about it all; so like any good cliché, he tried to fill it with things that would probably kill him in the end, or convict him for life in prison, he wasn't sure which idea he liked more.

"E-e-excuse me," a squeaky unsure voice sounded, Naveen groaned in protest and shifted. The voice had called him out of his comfort and crashing back into the splitting headache, dry eyes and foul taste in his mouth.

"S-sir?" the voice asked again, and this time Naveen growled and rolled over.

"What?" he demanded. He squinted as he tried to focus through the pain, he could barely make out a figure -mostly because there was something obstructing his view- but he had no doubt who it was.

"Sir, I am sorry that I am disturbing your… uh… recover time," Lawrence, the baby-sitter his parents hired to keep him out of trouble started, "but you are wanted in your father's office. Now."

Naveen pulled a face, his eyes still closed, what had he done now. "He does understand that the office is on the other side of the city, I won't be able to get there in the allotted time he has given me," Naveen drawled out lazily with a tone that made him feel like the cleverest man in the world. He blinked against the brightness of the room, his vision slowly clearing through the lack of moisture of his eyes, although it only seemed to make his headache worse.

Naveen watched the blurry Lawrence place something on the something that obstructed his view, a sound of clattering of glass and china pounding throughout his head. "I am sorry sir, but you aren't really that far away from the office."

Naveen knit his eyebrows together with some effort, "Wha-?"

"Well, you see, sir, you are in the office," Lawrence answered.

A lazy smile curled itself on Naveen's lips, "Is that so?"

* * *

He had no idea how it all started. He was the good little boy who did what his parents wanted his grades were spectacular, his concept on business management was outstanding and he was a very level headed boy with a promising future. Then he turned sixteen and the next he knew he was guzzling down copious amounts of alcohol, doing enough party drugs to knock an elephant into oblivion and sleeping with more woman than he could count on both hands. Needless to say, his parents' disappointment and disapproval was loud and clear even if they didn't say anything out loud, but he could care less. He made it quite apparent that he wanted nothing to do with what they had in store for him, just as long as they kept the money flowing.

He was in his mid-twenties now, and liked to mull around the idea that he was more enlightened than he once was. He cut down on his intake of drugs –due too many overdose scares. He limited his bed partners to one to two a day –too many jealous boyfriends, almost yet not quite pregnant girls as well as the possiblities of STDs. And his alcohol wasn't as bad as it used to be –it really didn't change much. He also could say that the people he hung out with could be a very big reason for his 180 degree turn in life -from an outstanding boy to the fun loving spirit that he was now- although, he always argued that he could have said no at any given time. Besides, he was still young and had so much more to experience out of life –never mind the condescending looks his parents gave him, he did what he liked and how he liked, no one said a damn thing to him.

Well, until his father decided to create his campaign of becoming the Mayor of the city. His father had just closed a deal on branching out his business into real estate; he now seemed to want his hand on governing the city. When Naveen's mother had told him his father's future plans on the rare nights that he was home for dinner, he just scoffed and rolled his eyes. His father –in Naveen's opinion- was a greedy man and always pushed to get exactly what he wanted and what his greedy father wanted was for his older son to shape up and turn into an upstanding citizen. But Naveen knew he was just a sad pathetic replica of his greedy father and besides he was too lazy to change his wild antics now.

* * *

"I understand this constant need for recognition, and I understand this overwhelming need for independence –but really Naveen, this is too far," Serhan Maldonia sat behind his rather large glass and metal desk staring down his son with the rays of the afternoon sun shining brightly behind him. At first Naveen was blinking against the light to look his father in the face, but soon gave up and slouched deep into his chair closing his eyes -he would have loved nothing more than to fall asleep, but his father's scolding voice had this way of keeping him awake and quite alert, a reaction that was trained into him at a very young age.

"Are you listening?" Serhan demanded, and Naveen shot up in his chair.

"Yes, yes, father, I'm a huge disappointment to the name," Naveen rolled his eyes, "May I leave?"

Serhan looked at his son in utter disbelief, sighing he let his head drop and his shoulders droop in defeat. Naveen took this as a sign for him to leave and moved to do so, but his father's words stopped him in his tracks. "Did I say I was finished? Sit. Down."

When he turned to face his father the look he received was one that Naveen had never seen before –at least never seen it used on him. It was the look that came across as saddening disappointment and a cool rage that rumbled underneath it all, it was the looked that Serhan used when dismissing an employee or cutting ties with a business associate. Naveen settled in his chair once more and gulped down the fear that was bubbling in the pits of his stomach.

Serhan took a moment before he spoke, "At 1:47 am, you accessed the network to my personal computer." Naveen stayed quiet, waiting for his father to continue, "The video footage of that night doesn't indicate any sort of break in, or of you ever entering the building. Yet here you are."

Naveen's patience began to wear thin, and the fact that he was still recovering from his hangover made him forget his place, "Is there a point to all this, father?"

The brown eyes Naveen had inherited stared him down with unfiltered heat, and Naveen pushed down his arrogance: playing the… slightly obedient son yet again. "There was a snitch in the system, Naveen, a snitch that you let in. They did a marvelous job too, if it wasn't for you passed out on the floor of your pathetic excuse of an office, I'm quite sure whoever did this would have gotten away with it. I'm not sure what they took –if indeed they took anything- and I'm not ever likely to find out; but it has helped me make up my mind about one thing."

Naveen could feel ice cold fingers slowly grab hold of his stomach, "Yes, father?" he implored a little more politely than before.

"Your mother and I both agreed that this is for the best," his father stayed stern. "All assists having to do with Maldonia Legacy as well as anything in your mother's family name, Moretti, has been dispersed from your name and has been spread out through charity."

The ice cold fingers ripped Naveen's stomach from his body and dragged it to the very core of the earth; and all he could do was sit there and gape like some idiot.

"Naveen Phillipe Shahzad Maladonia-Moretti, you are financially stripped from us until we see that you are mature enough to bear the responsibility as our heir," Serhan Maldonia told his son.

Naveen slid from his chair to his knees and grabbed the closes thing he could find hoping it was a waste basket. The bile had burned its way from his lost stomach to his throat and out of his mouth. Naveen puked until there was nothing left in his stomach; and for once he was certain it wasn't because of the alcohol.

* * *

**A/N:** I was planning on posting this two days ago, but I just came back from a trip from LA with a couple friends and I spent a good majority of it wishing I lived in Disneyland. So I was sort of in a daze this weekend trying to crash myself back into everyday life. But seriously, Disneyland changes a person. I played 'Where's Captain Jack Sparrow" on the Pirates of Caribbean ride. Got to see what it was like to control the Iron Man suit. Had myself some gumbo along New Orleans Square. Went fan girl berserk when I saw Darth Vader and Darth Maul. And cried my eyes out when I saw Dumbo flying over the castle with fireworks in the background... Needless to say, I will never be the same again. Sorry for the blog like explanations, but I feel guilty that this chapter came out a bit short.

Many thanks to my reviewers, please do not stop. I love and always look forward to reading them! Thank you for continuously pushing me **Suzerenma**, ma coeur. And thank you many times again** Avril Lambert** for the picture of Meg, I love it.

Yup. Denying any claim to these characters. Story is just for my amusement.


	6. Bingo

"A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. Each should have its own reward."  
― George R.R. Martin, _A Clash of Kings_

Chapter 5: Bingo

Clopin Trouillefou was certain that if he had to read over anymore articles these _people_ –he used the term lightly with his workers, they were just pure _animals_ half the time- considered to be "front page news" he was going to make a noose and hang them with it. He thought being the chief editor of a "quaint" weekly paper would give him less stress than a larger paper firm –he had absolutely no idea just how wrong he was.

"Do you mind telling me what this is?" Clopin ask taking his big red marker to the front paper, slowly and carefully drawing a huge X through it. Ragetti stared wide eyed as Clopin flipped the page and drew another slow X, his hopes wilting as his boss Clopin just shook his head and decided to feed Ragetti's paper to the shredder located next to Clopin's desk. Shame and depression didn't even seem to cover half of what Ragetti was feeling as he watched his paper make a slow procession through the shredder. The crunching noise of the paper meeting the teeth of the beast and the growl of the motor as it ate all his hard work seemed to just echo in despair in his ears. He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped.

"Forget it, I don't even care anymore," Clopin sighed simply waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. He turned his attention to the more perceptive of the pair (but certainly not the smartest), Pintel. Leaning his head boredly against the palm of his left hand, Clopin made an act of examining his nails of his right hands, "Please tell me you've got something more… Tangible to work with."

"Well," Pintel fidgeted. Watching as Ragetti slinked behind him in sad defeat, "I was thinking we focus on the campaign for city mayor."

Clopin stopped perking up from his left hand -he looked past Pintel, stroking his bearded chin with the index finger of his left hand.

"There is a thought," he said after a moment, causing Pintel and Ragetti to brighten slightly –it was always so difficult to please Clopin Trouillefou. "Who's running?"

"Ah!" Ragetti exclaimed, shoving aside Pintel in excitement, not realizing the glare he was receiving from the short balding man. "There's Triton Havfrue the so called 'fish king'. Zeus Olympia the multi-billionaire. Then there's Amir Al Muhaisen Jaber… Serhan Maldonia… uh, that ugly one with the pointy nose and weird bowl haircut…"

Pintel pinched his tall counterpart in rage, satisfied with a yelp from his partner who jumped back to his respected place, "You bloke, it's Judge Clementine Frollo!"

That certainly caught Clopin's attention. Stopping his hand in mid-stroke, "What?"

Pintel spun to look at Clopin whose face was a mask of curiosity and his eyes glinting sinisterly. Pintel hesitated, unsure how to take his boss' change of attitude, "Uh, Judge Clementine Frollo."

Clopin's smile widen as he laced together his fingers, placing a devilish smile and his chin on those laced fingers, "My dear friend, I believe you mean Judge _Claude_ Frollo."

"Yeah!" Ragetti perked up, oblivious to the change, "That's the one! Ow!"

Pintel had rammed his elbow into Ragetti's ribs never taking his eyes off Clopin who had jumped up from his seat to gaze out the window, hands neatly behind his back.

"Boys," he purred not bothering to turn around. Pintel and Ragetti stumbled over themselves to prep for whatever he had to order, "I think it's high time we give our star reporter some real work, don't you agree?"

* * *

Esmeralda Gitano long tanned fingers flew gracefully across the keyboard of her computer, Manitas de Plata's gypsy guitar and his occasional exclamations in Spanish trilling from her earbuds, her emerald eyes glancing every now and then at the notepad placed at her left side. As the guitar seemed to pick up speed with each note, so did her typing. The deadline for this main article about the price jump for parking meters wasn't due until the end of the week which was only three days away, but she had collected all she could for this particular piece and decided that it was high time to get started. Her fingers paused as she turned the page to her notepad, more words and more cryptic side notes she jotted down to help her memory for writing. Sighing she closed her eyes and stretched out her arms.

She couldn't quite remember how long she had been working -all she knew was that a wave of weariness crashed into her and that her eyes were starting to sting from staring at her screen for too long. It didn't help that she wasn't really all that excited about this particular story. Not that a quarter only buying you eight minutes wasn't a big deal, it's just not something that she saw herself doing in her career with her shiny and fancy degree in journalism. She wanted to be the voice that unveiled the truth to the world, the one that uncovered all the secrets and brought all of it to justice. Unfortunately, she had only made one such accomplishment and it was swept under the rug before it had time to shine with pride. Not to mention it had cost her a very dear informant and friend.

_"I hope this bring you all you want in life, Esme," she_ had spat like venom at Esmeralda sarcastically. Esmeralda recalled those last words and the glare from the large velvety purple eyes that accompanied the words as watched her old friend sauntered out of the diner, the front news of the paper revealing the truth behind a certain man who was wanted for embezzling from a local elementary school, and Esmeralda's name underneath the subtitle of the article. Her old friend's words were like a curse and after the article was published, Esmeralda's story never went far –and she wasn't sure if she was sad at that fact, or deeply disappointed. She shook her head, this was divine punishment for taking someone's trust and twisting it to her selfish ways, and she knew it. From then one she tried to be as honest with everything as she could; granted, being honest in her line of work never really worked out well, it tended to give the crappy stories everyone barely noticed when skimming the paper for a good story. Again –divine punishment. Although, it wouldn't hurt if she had gotten something a little more...

Tugging the earbuds from her ears and pushing down the weight of exhaustion with a yawn, she opened her eyes to see the view of the dark brown eyes that belonged to her cousin/boss; Clopin. She titled her head to the side, accustomed to her cousin popping up in front of her at random times, and she felt a smile spread across her lips.

"_Si? Mon cousin?_" she asked him sweetly as he pushed himself away from her picking up her notepad in bored interest.

"Whatever are you working on here?" he asked her, not even paying attention to it as he turned the pages.

"Parking meters are up an extra fifteen cents," she shrugged, "does it really matter? You cleared it."

He threw the notepad over his shoulder, and hit the exit button on her article, knowing very well his cousin never saved her work when she was on a roll. "And now I'm telling you not to bother with that crap."

She stared at her cousin. "Oh?" was all that fell from her lips. She felt no resentment as she watched as days and hours -condensed to four measly pages- was wiped away from her screen. She trusted that her whacked out boss had his reasons.

He smiled his smile. She knew that only mischief could come from that smile, it was after all, one of the many family traits they seemed to share. "Oh yes, m'dear, I have a very special present for you."

She waited patiently as he drew out the silence for dramatic effects. Always one to play games, something she was never a stranger to when it came to her odd cousin. When things seemed to go the way he wanted, he placed a manila folder on her desk, opening it. Judge Claude Frollo's unfeeling eyes were the first to look up at her, suddenly a rush of eternal damnation seemed to sweep through her; she fought a shiver and decided to flip over his picture to the clippings behind it.

"He's running for mayor?" She questioned as her jeweled eyes read snippets of sentences as she flipped through different articles and pictures, trying to find the angle Clopin was hinting at. She got to the very last article clipping when a name screamed out to her. She pulled her green eyes up to Clopin, searching his perfect mask of amusement for a hint that she had hit gold.

"Ratcliffe? John Ratcliffe is funding his campaign," she gasped at him, her fingers reaching for the other articles scanning for his name and other associations that would strike her as odd… sure enough, names of people, companies and connections to John Ratcliffe was screaming from each article and pages she read. Esmeralda stopped her hunt, pulling forward the picture she had turned over previously.

It was Clopin's turn to cock his head to the side. Studying his cousin's furrowed brow he felt a wicked smile splay itself across his lips and twinkle in his eyes, "Now what would a money laundering business man like _Ratcliffe_ be doing funding the upstanding judge who has put more than half of his illegal export 'connections' in jail?"

Esmeralda searched Frollo's picture, as if that stern face with the hooked nose would give her the right answer, when she realized that it was just a picture, she reached for her cell phone pulling up her best friend's name.

"Excuse," she whispered to her cousin as an equally wicked smile spread across her lips, she narrowed her eyes at him and leaned, "I need to call my lawyer; and you're in my space."

Clopin just laughed at his baby cousin as he slid off her desk, picking up the discarded notepad and skipped off into the crowd while calling over his shoulder, "Oh, Esme, where would you be without me?"

She smiled to herself watching him stopping short in front of Pintel who had a stack of papers in hand. Clopin pulled wagged a finger at Pintel and knocked the stack papers out of his hands, laughing joyously as papers flew all over the place and Pintel's face along with other employees' was plastered with horror as they fluttered round them. Clopin handed Pintel Esmeralda's notepad and continued on with a skip in his feet. She shook her head at her jester of a cousin, she was pretty sure that without her cousin, she'd be stuck behind her computer writing up an article about an extra fifteen cent change in parking meters.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I know that Esmeralda was speaking both French and Spanish, a something I would probably get into later. Also, thank you, **Suzerenma**, for not getting upset for the last name use. It's my shout out to you for constantly pushing me and motivating me. You've been wonderful and I could not be more grateful, much everyone else, I'm loving your support! Keep it up and so will I. It's the whole faeries thing, if you believe in them, than just keep on clapping.

Just putting it out there; for me personally, before there was Eugene Fitzhurbert, it was all about Clopin Trouillefou for me. While girls went crazy for their bloody Pirates, their Princes and their gorram John Smiths -I went for the _King_ of the Gypsies. I think it had a lot to do with him being slightly crazy, and a _King_. For those of you who don't know; Manitas de Plata is a gypsy flamenco guitarist who started by doing lives on the borders of France and Spain and refused to do studio recordings, I seriously suggest you check him out, he is a GOD with the guitar.

Works of fanfiction. No owning of characters of any kind.


	7. Of Street-rats and Thieves

"Not knowing when the dawn will come  
I open every door."  
― Emily Dickinson, _The Complete Poems_

Chapter 6: Of Street-rats and Thieves

He loved the wind in his hair; the pulse of excitement as he ran down the street; and the rush of adrenaline as he jumped over a railing (in the National State Park located within the city) to throw off his pursuers –the cops.

This was Aladdin's typical afternoon workout: Find something to bug the cops with and bolt down the street before he could get caught. Using the knowledge of his neighborhood –I.e. the whole city- and his self taught acrobatic abilities; Aladdin found that he was never out of shape. Who needed a gym membership or personal trainer when you had all the resources right there on the streets? Sure, half the things he did to get his fitness up to par was illegal –but it was only illegal if you got caught; a sentiment he had raised himself on since he was thrust out alone into the world when he was only twelve.

Leaping through the air over a hotdog stand, he began to imagine what it would be like if he didn't live life on the streets like he did –surely he wouldn't feel the need to cause pranks… then again, with his personality that didn't seem very likely; living on the streets or not.

Tucking and rolling, he landed on his feet in a squatting position; he looked left, then right and then behind, noting that the police did not follow in jumping over the railing and decided to go the long way round, he smiled to himself this is what made his disappearing act easy as pie. He looked forward again his eyes looking past a balloon vendor and an ice cream cart wheeled by a bored teenager about to pass each other. Quickly, he sprang to his feet and slipped between the two -jogging lightly as he made his way down the stairs of the underground metro-train station. Jumping the turnstile when no one was looking, Aladdin went for the first train whose doors were already closing, his foot barley making it through the train's doors. He sighed and leaned tiredly against the doors, thankful that his usual afternoon workout had been successful, even more thankful of the brand-new running shoes he had not so conspicuously lifted from the expensive shoe shop.

* * *

Aladdin had learned to take life in strides. Just lay back and let the rest work for you, it had always been his way of life, and he had no complaints. After his father abandoned his mother and him when he was just a ten year old kid and his mother dying two years after that –Aladdin found that anger couldn't bring either one of them back, nor would it give him a better foster home. So he learned to roll with the punches –so to speak- and at the age of fifteen he ran from his foster home and was greeted by the warm embrace of the city.

He learned the rules of the streets quickly and made many friends as time went by. One friend in particular, just so happened to own an apartment building and Aladdin had tricked him into giving the abandoned studio at the top of his apartment building for virtually nothing. It was the first living space that Aladdin had ever considered home; and although the building was a rundown hunk of sheet rock and plaster, Aladdin had the most gorgeous view of the rich part of the city from across the bay. Sitting out on the fire escape as the sun dissolved in the sky giving a splay of colors as the moon lifted itself into the atmosphere, he would imagine himself living a life in a fancy suit and shiny shoes, with a high-rise apartment and maybe a supermodel girlfriend –wife even. But those fantasies were wiped away as quickly as they entered the mind when he heard the downstairs neighbors screaming over how neither one appreciated the other.

Even after all this, he was never once jaded at the idea of being alone and a petty street thief. Not that he ever complained about it. He had food –which he had to steal once in a while or went to a soup kitchen when the pickings were slime. A roof over his head –which tended to leaked horribly during the rainy season. He even had warm clothes on his back –mostly stolen as with everything else he owned. Sure he wanted more out of life, anyone and everyone always wanted more in one way or another, he just learned to appreciate what he had, and less of what he didn't have.

* * *

Aladdin had gotten off the train and out of the station to find that he was neck deep in one of the busiest and slightly richest part of the city. Quickly he felt out of place with his holey jeans and dirt smudged hair-metal band t-shirt, his sneakers were probably the only things that looked like it would blend it, but he doubted that anyone was going to look at his shoes. If he was going to blend in, he needed new attire, or at least something to cover his t-shirt with.

So down the streets he went, honing in on a shop that graciously had some of their clothes outside the shop. He smiled to himself -today was his shopping day he supposed- and he casually walked up to a rack with men's sweaters on it, browsing through it but keeping an eye out for workers or anyone who might witness his sticky fingers. Taking note that nobody was paying attention, Aladdin grabbed a grey hooded sweater off a hanger and tucked it between his arm and body as he stuffed his hands in his pocket. Turning and walking away as if the sweater had been there the whole time. Tugging off the tag he pulled on his newly acquired sweater and zipped it up, and decided that his next order of business was to find something edible.

He decided not to push his luck with stealing food. He had already managed with breakfast this morning and already dashed out of the shoe store today. "Quit while your ahead" was philosophy number two in his book, but that was the number he always heeded less to –so he decided to lift a wallet off some unsuspecting sucker. The question was, who though? Aladdin walked for a bit scanning people as he went by, none of them seeming to be the right targets. Then he saw him, a tall man with stylish short brown hair sporting a small goatee was leaning carelessly against a tree talking to a beautiful slender woman with a heart-shaped face, pink pouty lips and big velvety purple eyes. Both of them seemed to be oblivious to the world around them, perfect victims to pick from.

Aladdin looked forward and walked towards them with the rest of the crowd. Closer and closer he got and without taking a look at the man he crashed into him, deftly slipping his fingers into his back pocket for his wallet and stuffing it quickly up his sleeve.

"Sorry!"Aladdin said and continued forward. But a hand around his wrist stopped him.

"I don't know whether to be insulted, or honored," he heard the man say, his voice held a sort of laughter in it, as if everything was a joke to him.

Aladdin turned to see the woman pull up his sleeve and pull out the wallet, "I don't think it really much matters," she sighed, unlike her male counterpart she seemed bored, almost angry, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes and she looked at Aladdin.

"You, kid," the man started, taking his wallet from the woman who still was holding on to Aladdin, "You almost got away with it too. I seriously must be slipping."

The woman scoffed, "You're so busy wrapped up in that tiny brain of yours I'm surprised that you notice anything." Her friend glanced down at her before looking at Aladdin who didn't even bother to hide his confusion. What the hell was up with these two, and how did the man know he was pick-pocketing him? Those two seemed to be so wrapped up in their own world that they didn't really seem to notice much of anything. Then the realization dawned on Aladdin. He tugged at his hand, and the woman released it as he began to pat himself down, realizing that his pockets were empty.

The man gave a huge smile and produced a beaten up Velcro wallet Aladdin had since he was fifteen. "Looking for this, kid?"

"When did you…" Aladdin started, but the man's smile turned into a devilish grin.

"Oh my friend, my dear naïve and…" He hesitated taking in Aladdin's appearance then shrugged and continued, "_weather-beaten_ friend –you're playing with the big kids."

The woman rolled her eyes, "Are you finished, Artful Dodger? I'm starving."

The man tossed Aladdin's wallet to him with a wink, "Word of advice kid, quit while you're ahead," and they both turned to leave.

He didn't know what had just transpired, but he sure as hell didn't think that it would happen again. Here were two very fashionable looking thieves. Both seemed to be living an easy life –relatively- and both seemed to have no problem estimating when they were going to have their next meal. Suddenly, Aladdin had a flash of himself with that high-rise apartment again, and he was almost certain that these two had exactly that. "Hold up!" Aladdin called and followed them, only to be stopped by the woman who looked as if she were about to strangle Aladdin.

"Listen, _kid_, I don't care who you are or where you came from, but I'm hung-over and starving. If you ever been around bitchy women, you should know that that is not a good combination to keep unhappy. So do us all a favor, and _piss off_." Aladdin noted that her partner had to keep a hand on her shoulder from tackling him and ripping out his innards.

"Ease up there, Cujo," muttered the man, that certainly seemed to get her attention. She whipped around to glare him down and nobody needed her to voice the curse she was giving him with her eyes. The man lifted his hands in peace, and the woman huffed down her anger, then the man addressed Aladdin again.

"Didn't I just tell you to quit while you're ahead?" the man demanded, when Aladdin didn't respond and continued to look up at the man with fierce determination, he slumped his shoulders, "You're persistent, I'll give you that," the man muttered, "What do you want?"

"How do you do it?" was all Aladdin could come up with, the man looked at him with a confused look.

"Do what?"

"Make an easy living doing what you do, how do you do it?" Aladdin asked again. He didn't miss the look the two gave each other before looking down at Aladdin again. "I want in!"

The woman rolled her eyes, "Oh, just what we need, a starry-eyed punk who thinks our lives are all full of smoke and fun-filled mystery," she looked at her male counterpart, "You deal with him, I'll meet you at the restaurant." And with that she sauntered off.

"Is she-"

"Almost always," the man said quickly, then turned to Aladdin his face all business and smiles, "But don't worry about Meg; she'll shoot you first if she didn't like you."

Aladdin pulled a face at the man, "If I don't have to worry about getting shot, what do I have to worry about?"

The man's face pulled into a devilish grin yet again, but this time –it never made it to his eyes, instead his eyes held some sort of dangerous fear that Aladdin was sure he should be paying attention to. But he was a determined, and the man's eyes bore down at him as he answered, "Our boss."

Aladdin gulped down a lump he hadn't realized was there, "I'm Aladdin."

"Flynn," the man responded, "Flynn Rider. And let me tell you kid –you better be damn sure and pretty damn ready for what's in store."

Aladdin could only nod, and think of that high-rise apartment. He was in trouble.

* * *

**A/N**: I feel guilty, really guilty. I haven't updated lately -and I blame my newly acquired fondness for going to the gym at 11 at night for the past week. On the upside; I probably won't die of a heart problem, so that good I guess.

Another reason for my guilt would be because I have had a dry spell for characters. I want to draw this out, but I really don't want to draw it out for too long; but the problem with that is that I'm having problems coming up with situations for my characters involved without giving away too much too quickly. I have a general outline of where I want this to go, it's just all about not letting it die too quickly. I want to savor all this before it sours. So if this chapter is somewhat boring, I'm sorry. Really sorry. I didn't mean for it to be. But on a happier note, I put a poll on my profile for anyone who wants to voice who I should write about next. So please let me know, and I'll get to working on that!

I wrote Aladdin in favor for **Suzerenma** who is currently in Egypt right now drawing her inspiration for her fanfiction _**Egyptian Sunsets**_. I'm super excited for her and can't wait to read the chapters that are to come. If you haven't checked it out yet, please do, it's amazing, and pushes me to write more! Many thanks to everyone who has Favorited, Followed and Reviewed**_ Gâchette Noir_**, you have no idea how much it means to me. Every time I get and email or notification, I just start jumping around in joy and showing all my friends, I think they are starting to get sick of me. I don't care though, it makes me feel shiny.

I no own characters. Be them characters by Stephan King, Charles Dickens or Disney. I own the plot, concept and dialogue though.


	8. A Chasing Fool

"A fool with a heart and no sense is just as unhappy as a fool with sense and no heart."  
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, _The Idiot_

Chapter 7: A Chasing Fool

Eric Saylor had lived in a tiny town near the sea. His father was a fisherman and his mother was a school teacher. They lived a simple life, a roof over their heads, food on the table, clothes on their back and a strong sense of family value. He grow up happy, never speaking out of turn, respecting his parents and elders and being that one kid in school that everyone wanted to be friends with, and who was friendly with everyone. Then he met her –Vanessa.

Vanessa was a train wreck. Growing up from a broken home, she was constantly finding herself on the wrong side of situations, always being the cause of those wrong kinds of situations and never in the same place at the same time. It was hard to say why, but Eric was drawn to her. Maybe it was love, or maybe it was love for what she represented. Adventure.

See, while Eric was happy being a kid who grew up with good values and a good head on his shoulders; he also had a bubbling of turmoil –a rift in personality if you will- that only came apparent to him when he first locked eyes with those cool steely gray eyes that held a sort of taunting laughter in them. He was only sixteen and before he knew it –he was left unsettled.

Being with Vanessa was like a high speed chase. Emotions were revved up to 200mph and adrenaline was pumping so hard that he felt invincible. It didn't matter what they were doing, whether it was screaming at each other until one or the other silenced the fight with a kiss, or sitting on the roof of his blue 1989 Chevy Camaro drinking or experimenting in illegal narcotics like most bored suburban teens do. He didn't delude in the idea that he was a saint; and being with Vanessa certainly made him feel as if he was a sinner, but if being a sinner gave you the high he felt, he might as well do it for the rest of his goddamn life.

Or at least, so he thought. Being a teenager, he couldn't see past his own nose, see the harm it was doing to people around him. His closes friends avoided him like the plague, his teachers would shake their heads because they had no idea how to deal with it… and his parents –well his mother would cry to herself and his father had barely a civil word to say to him when they saw each other. He didn't seem to understand that the euphoria he felt from letting himself go was shattering like fragile glass around him, the shards cutting deep into each and every single person who cared and loved him. If he looked back on it now, he'd say it was a damned nightmare, a nightmare he was ashamed to say he brought upon himself.

He barely remembered what snapped him out of that delusion that Vanessa had cast over him, but he knew that she had been the reason he had broken out of it. After his break from Vanessa, Eric felt it only right to get things in order. He tired to fix things with his friends and family and things were almost normal, if not for the past hanging over all their heads. It was a foolish thought that broken things could ever go back to the way it used to be. So –once he turned seventeen and got his GED- without so much as a glance back, he joined the Navy.

* * *

Nine years later, Eric found himself in one of the rooms of the precinct watching a twenty-four hour surveillance tape of the crime scene; numbly scanning over the grey and white specks. He didn't think there were so many colors that could make up the grey spectrum of the color wheel, but there he sat, trying to make out its different shades for anything that was even remotely off. So far, he was only three hours in, and already, he was ready to run his head into the glass of the television –anything to get something to happen. Groaning, he let his head fall onto the table with a "thunk". Four days, ten hours and forty-three minutes since the crime scene –and they were close to nowhere to solving it.

"Hey," he heard his partner sound from his right. He turned his forehead and looked at her from a sideways view.

"Hey," he replied quietly, and pulled himself to a sitting position as Mulan gave a warm smile and handed him a cup of coffee. He took in graciously, but didn't take a sip, just inspected it, "Where'd you get the coffee?"

"The coffee shop around the corner," Mulan answered, take a sip of her own and pulling up a chair next to him. "I'm not stupid enough to pour myself the crap Yao made."

Eric nodded in agreement. Yao did tend to make mud instead of coffee, although how, nobody really knew. He took a sip and was greeted by the power of strong flavored coffee and no sugar. He pulled a face.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, I didn't put anything in your cup," Mulan said in a conversational voice. She was sneaky like that, she had been his partner for a little over three years and she never hesitated to tell him what she thought of his health and eating habits. Making him drink black coffee without sugar of creamer was just one way she loudly voiced it. Eric set the paper cup down on the table and vowed not to touch it again –he was too lazy to go to the break room to put in his own creamer and sugar. Plus, Gaston was in there, and Eric was not in the mood for his petty jabs at how strong he was and how he _used_ to be a professional boxer. On any other night, he wouldn't mind putting Gaston in his place –but tonight was just to exhausting to even fathom.

"So anything-" she stopped speaking as her phone began to play the _Imperial March_. Not even hesitating or bothering to look down she quickly declined the call and silence her phone, "-anything interesting come to light?"

Eric looked at her for a space of a minute and shook his head, "Either that was the bad date from last night or your mother."

Mulan put her cop face in place, "Not that it's any of your business."

Eric pulled a faux sympathetic look and turned his attention back to the screen, "Come on! It can't be that bad," when Mulan said nothing and kept her eyes glued to the screen with intense determination, Eric gave his signature boyish laugh, "I suppose it could."

"That's odd," Mulan muttered more to herself, lifting slightly from her chair.

"What the date? Was he into weird things?" Eric asked, but when he realized she was talking about the video, he looked back up, only to watch someone on a hooded sweater enter the building. He looked at the time stamp; it was way past closing, but too early to be the time of the crime. He paused the tape and rubbed his temples; more and more questions were being asked and nothing was being answered. "Maybe we need something stronger than coffee."

"Hm," Mulan answered distractedly, than put her coffee down to shuffle through other tapes, "If we're lucky we can see if we can match the interior surveillance tapes and ID the guy. Now where is that– here we are!"

She grabbed the tape and popped it in, fast-forwarding it to the right time. It was barely visible, but they could definitely make out a face. "We need to get this run through the system."

Eric already had his foot out the door, "Way ahead of you."

* * *

Hours later, Mulan and Eric found themselves knocking on the door that belonged to a Quasimodo Sunday, in a terrible run-down apartment. It had taken a long time to track this guy down, and when they finally did, it was through a database for Notre Dame Orphanage for Boys. The profile had indicated that he was in his early twenties and had long since moved on from the orphanage. From there they pulled up a DMV record and went straight to the address. So there they stood, two hours after sundown knocking on the door of a twenty-something year old kid who may or may not know anything about their crime scene. Eric was feeling very stretched out. He knew that solving the murder would bring them one step closer to Yu Shan –but so many doors just kept on opening in front of them, and they had no clue which one to take. At that moment, he wished he had drunk his coffee, be there cream and sugar or not.

As he was about to turn to say so to Mulan; they heard a crashing noise, and instinctively, they kicked down the door, guns out and pointed steadily for any un-wanted movement. A movement turned Eric's attention to the farthest window to the right, training his gun only to see a foot slip through the window.

Instinct took over Eric first, he ran over to the window, holstering his gun, only to be stopped by the ten story drop, and a figure easily scaling its way down the wall, just passing the second floor. "He's making a break for it!" he called over his shoulders as the figure made its way to the ground floor, and running down the street. Eric pulled himself back into through the window, "Why do they always insist on making a run for it?"

"Maybe because they know how out of shape you are," Mulan teased, "Do you know which way he went?"

"Yeah," Eric said, going to a window with a fire escape, "He's making his way towards Whitmore Street."

"We'll split up, get him cornered," Mulan said aloud understanding the plan without Eric saying anything. "Be careful," she called over her shoulders and ran out the door.

In the years Eric had been a cop, he always found that it didn't matter how innocent you were; people always ran. It was pure intuition, just like it was always intuition for him to catch up to them eventually. He always liked the chase for some reason –maybe it was because in a way he was still trying to chase down that something missing from his life. Or maybe it was just because chasing down someone just meant he could get closer to closing a case –either way, it always got his blood pumping.

He watched as the man rounded the corner which was closely followed by a piercing scream that made Eric stop for a breath of a second. Mulan didn't scream and even if she did, she'd be coming from the other end of the street. Quickly, Eric moved his legs and pounded his way around the corner facing a scene of the man trying to calm a crayon red headed figure who was whimpering between each breath she drew. When Eric's steps reached the man's ears, he looked up, his face shrouded by his hood, but Eric could make out grey eyes that held nothing but panic before he turned and bounded his way down the street.

Cursing Eric moved forward to put on the pursuit once again, but a simple hand on his wrist had him whipping around to growl at whoever it was to lay off –but his words died in his throat. For all he could see was the most alluring teal blue eyes, teal as the Caribbean oceans. And just like that; Eric stopped running.

* * *

**A/N:** I feel that in the past few month I have been making a lot of apologies and not enough of just telling it the way it is. I used to be like that, but then I started caring about people and their feelings and I've been apologizing for my actions. And quite frankly, I'm pretty exhausted with it all. So for now; I'm just going to lay it all out for you guys. If there is typos and such, just understand that I was too lazy to proof-read, but I really wanted to post up this chapter. I feel that Eric deserves a voice, he's a pretty solid character. I tried really hard to not make him sound too much like Flynn and/or Naveen -but Disney didn't really leave me much of a choice seeing that a good majority of the male protagonists want nothing more than a grand old adventure. Unless you're Hercules, Tarzan or freaking Simba. Gosh darn you Disney and you're playful, adventurous swashbuckling male leads... Sigh.

As for Quasimodo's name; I sort of derived it from the book _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ -where Pheobus is an ass, Frollo's an Archdeacon, Esmeralda is a fourteen year old who everyone lusts after, and everyone pretty much dies, like in Hamlet! Its a long story behind the truth of his name, so I might write it into a chapter. MIGHT.

On a perkier note, I've spent a good majority of my day singing Disney tunes. Anyone hear of the Little Mermaid Broadway Musical that they had back in 2008? I'm sort of sad that I missed an opportunity to see it. But I've been blasting the whole musical soundtrack on the top of my lungs in the shower, while I'm cooking and while I've been driving. Two of my favorite songs just so happen to be 'Beyond My Wildest Dreams' and 'I Want the Good Times Back' (personal note, Ursula and Hades are my favorite Disney Villains), my third favorite is 'One Step Closer'. If you haven't heard of the Broadway Musical I seriously suggest you check it out, it's beautiful!

Many thanks to my viewers and readers. Thank you **Phoebe** for checking for updates everyday it's very sweet of you! And for **Avril Lambert** for never missing an opportunity to leave me a review. It makes me so very much happy! For my pusher/editor/best friend abroad **Suzerenma**, who I miss everyday, thank you so very very much. Can you all believe I've made it to seven chapters? I can't. Three more and I'll have ten! I would have thought I'd have given up on writing this by now, but you guys keep me strong. Thank you soo much! Please don't stop and I won't either!

Works of fanfiction by a fan of Disney. And of Victor Hugo. And of Hans Christan Anderson. And Chinese folk lore poems.


	9. Reprieves of a Depressed Drunk

"Happiness is just a word to me  
And it might of meant a thing or two  
If I had known the difference  
Emptiness, a lonely parody  
And my life, another smokin' gun  
A sign of my indifference  
Always keepin' safe inside  
Where no one ever had a chance  
To penetrate a break in"

-_Gotta Knock a Little Harder_ Yoko Kanno/ Tim Jensen

Chapter 8: Reprieves of a Depressed Drunk

She was drunk. D-R-U-N-K drunk –and she didn't care who knew it. Her father always told her that it was never healthy to fight off a hang-over with more booze to the system –and a certain black-haired, guy-liner man is definite proof of that- but for all the grief she was given from the man she grudgingly calls a father, she could care less of the little life lessons he always tried to partake on her. She didn't even want to get started on _that_ piece of crap who helped carry her into this piece of shit they called a world –for all the misery it gave her.

Meg looked around the dark bar area of the restaurant; Flynn was long gone, having fed and decided to school his new found "protégé" –they left Meg to her own destruction where she _decided_ to crawl into a bottle of very expensive scotch with all her hard (stolen) earned money. Her revelations of the night before had her feeling particularly low, and since Hades hadn't contacted her since the job was done, she felt it only right to treat herself to bubble baths, expensive wines and enough cream-puffs to make a diabetic look healthy. Flynn had scolded her for her rash choices of being drunk while taking a bubble bath, but she had rebutted that his chain smoking was a slower torture than her passing out and drowning –at least she'd go peacefully. It shut him up -until he dragged her ass out of the comfort of her million dollar loft and out into the real world with the hopes of grabbing some _real_ food. See how well that panned out, go to get some food and then pick up a stray puppy on the way. Meg snorted at the thought. She had no idea why she was feeling so bitter; all she knew was that she wanted a reason to be angry. Having a reason to be angry –even if it was a sorry excuse- just gave the validation to go off on whoever she wanted. Her mother was the one who taught her that, her mother was also the one who taught her that more alcohol had made people prettier –another notion that she had to snort at. It didn't matter how much she had in her system; everyone was still ugly as hell.

She downed the rest of the contents in her glass and waved the bartender for another. She watched the bartender pour her glass, remembering the sweet little southern child that had been her bartender a while back. It was only five days ago –but to Meg and her booze induced mindset- it felt like weeks. She was a breath of fresh air, that bartender. She was the kind of girl who you'd want to break your heart over, but couldn't because she wouldn't give you the opportunity to. She was a _real_ and _honest _hardworking gal, and that was something Meg had massive amounts of respect for. So why couldn't she be more honest? Make a more honest living for herself? She'll tell you why; because she was lazy as hell; and with the role models she had growing up, she learned that it didn't take very much to get people to give you what you wanted; just an adjustment of her bra, little bat of the eye lashes and the right shade of lipstick you could have people mesmerized in a second. Oh, how she hated her parents, she was lucky she didn't know any other family members, because she'd probably end up disliking them too. She was sure that the sweet southern bartender had grown up with an amazing support of people to motivate her and keep her bright and sunny…

Meg slammed her glass down, aggravation screwed deep into her amethyst eyes –she be DAMNED if she was throwing herself a pity party! Beating up herself up, she can do. Scorning the people who brought her into the shit world, she could understand; but once she started throwing her own damn pity party? That was the last straw and enough to push aside her glass of scotch and not touch it for the next few months. Alcohol was also a terrible way of coming to terms with the truth; it's why the stuff was just so evil and brutal. Just like another certain devil she could go without in her life.

"Either you make sitting in that chair look amazing, or you're just naturally gorgeous." Meg rolled her eyes, was it too much to ask to just have some moments of peace to herself? Besides, was that even a pick up line?

Meg dropped her head and glanced to her right, her in her vision was a very handsome man, with deep blue eyes, a strong jaw, cleft chin, silky smooth black hair and biceps more muscular that her thighs. Too bad he was wearing an arrogant look to his face that read that he was dumber than bricks and shit combined. She pulled her face forward, rightly ignoring the man, any other night she would use him to buy her a round of shots then convince him to give her his wallet. But tonight, she had just sworn off alcohol and was just not feeling it.

"Aw, baby, don't be so cold," the man slid into the stool next to her and leaned in. She almost gagged at the obscene amount of cologne he was wearing. It was obvious that no one ever told him that enough was enough.

"How about you and I get out of here," the man started to trail a hand up her jean clad thigh. She quirked up an eyebrow, boy was he barking up the wrong tree. She turned to him, making sure a smile pulled at her lips. He seemed to think that that was an invitation, because he rested an open palm on her thigh like it was a damn armrest.

"And what makes you think that I want to go anywhere with a shit brained monkey like you?" She hissed at him pinching his hand and throwing it off her thigh. She slid off her barstool then to make her grand exit, but the man wrapped his strong fingers around her tiny wrists and pulled her towards him and standing to use his height to intimidate her –it didn't. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"I think for Adonis Greco, you will," the man sneered; making a move to pull back his jacket slightly, a police badge was clipped to his belt. Meg felt her heart jump to her throat –she was just a magnet for trouble and shitty people no matter where she went.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Meg lied coolly, challenging him. At first she thought he was going to let her go, but instead he tugged out a picture of Adonis and her when they were seventeen. Her teenage self looked at her present self with her signature look of complete boredom, but there was a light in her purple eyes. It was the light she had from when she believed herself in love with the ass that had his arms thrown carelessly around her shoulders and a carefree grin.

"Look, whatever Greco did, I assure you, I had nothing to do with it," Meg said in a bored tone as the cop put the picture back, though she was feeling the panic pulse through her veins. What the hell kind of crap did he get himself into this time?

"That little thief owes me the money he cheated me out of. I don't take very kindly to cheaters," the man growled.

"And I say again," Meg sighed, daring to look into those very pissed off looking blue eyes, "me and Greco aren't associates any longer," she tugged at her wrist painfully, but the grip was like iron, "so. Back. Off."

"Oh but you were in association with him," the cop said with a sick smile, "meaning that I could possibly find some pretty shiny things on you if I look hard enough."

Meg smiled back, a sarcastic smile that caused her eyes to narrow, "Don't strain yourself too hard –I'm pretty sure your brain has already hit its maximum capacity just by concentrating how to talk." Not one of her finest, but it did the job.

Ugly anger replaced the cop's handsome face and Meg knew from a lot of experience what was coming. She flinched back expecting the impact of the power behind hand with the well toned arm, but it never came. She opened her eyes, and saw shock overcome her assailant's eyes as he realized that his own wrist was being held by a guy who was equally as well-built as him. Besides the muscles there was a huge contrast between the two of them, where the cop had black hair, the man had this dark copper colored hair clipped short and slicked back, and his cornflower blue eyes held no malice or any trace of arrogance unlike the dark blue eyes of the man who still had his hand on Meg's wrist.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you never to strike a lady?" The newcomer asked, joking was in his voice, but underneath it there was sense of disapproval. Meg's days just kept getting better and better.

The cop twisted his wrist out of the newcomer's –a jerking movement that had Meg stumbling with him. The man holding on tight to Meg's wrist, opened his mouth to speak, but Meg's husky voice was what spoke, she didn't even bother hiding her annoyance. "Just what in the hell do you think you are doing?"

The copper-haired man looked at her in confusion, "Isn't this guy giving you problems?"

"And you suppose butting in is going to make this easier for me?" Meg scowled at him. The man only hesitated, and Meg continued, still trying to free her wrist, "Look, we've got this under control -you can go about your night."

Meg half expected the man to turn and leave, with the dejected look that seemed to screw up his handsome features, but then Meg gave a yelp in pain as the cop tightened his grip in frustration. The dark coppered haired man was fast; he spun the antagonist so fast that he had no choice but to let go of Meg's wrist. What had transpired next Meg didn't bother to stay and watch –instead she turned to make a quiet escape. As she spun something cool and wet with the fragrance of St. Germaine and lychee was dripping its way down the front of her neck and her cream colored, _silk,_ button-downed blouse.

Closing her eyes, she silently cursed the Gods or whoever the hell was in charge for never making things easy for her.

"Sorry there, sister," said a distracted raspy and Jersey accented voice. Meg glanced around for the source then looked down to come head to face with a short, red nosed, scruffy looking man who reminded Meg desperately of goat.

"S'alright," Meg muttered down to him, then turned to try to get the bartender to give her a towel or something, but he was too pre-occupied trying to break up the fight and throw them out. It was high-end establishment, and embarrassing to be caught as the reason for such an unsophisticated fight. Sighing in aggravation Meg decided to just bend over the bar to get the damned towel herself –she was already the center of ridicule and speculation what did she care if more people started to think the worse of her?

"Normally I scold the kid for interfering in other people's business –but with you I can _certainly_ forgive why he had," the goat-man said thoughtfully getting a nice view of Meg's ass as she found the rag. Making a face at his comment, she _accidentally_ knocked over a glass as she slid back to her side of things, causing the glass to barely miss his shin and shatter to the floor by his feet. As the goat man began to bleat that she did it on purpose, she patted herself down –hoping fervently that it didn't stain her three hundred dollar brand name blouse- and tossed the soiled rag in his direction. She gathered what was left of her dignity and left the restaurant.

Once outside she decided to hail a cab –all of which decided at that moment to be busy. Repressing another sigh, she wonder if this was karma finally catching up to her. All that seemed to be missing was the rain as she decided to walk the forty plus blocks to her loft barefooted –only because she did not want to commit suicide on her feet with the five inch black pumps she was wearing.

Just as she was about to slip off her heels, a familiar voice had her tensing up.

"Miss?"

Meg turned to see the dark copper-haired man from before come up behind her with a newly acquired split-lip being the only injury. _Is Wonder Boy here for real?_ Meg thought bitterly to herself as she did the once over of her supposed savior. She cocked an eyebrow and went into her fighting stance; sagging her hips to the side, and placed her right hand on her hips –she be damned if she got caught up if this was a new cheap way of hitting on women.

"You ran out so fast, I thought I would miss a chance to make sure you were okay," the man said with a sweet smile, it was the kind of sweet smile that made you trust him in one fell swoop, it was also the kind of smile that put her on the defense quick. Something she taught herself: Never be too trusting with sweet smiles.

Meg didn't respond, and that seemed to make him shift awkwardly. When his cornflower blue eyes met her velvety purple ones, Meg watch as awkward just became full out uncomfortable –something that took years of practice to do without having to actually glare.

"Well, uh," he started, shifting from one side to the other, "Uh… are you alright, Miss…" he trailed off, waiting for a name.

Meg seriously thought about giving him a fake name, but looking into his eyes, she figured she give the kid a break, "Megara," she answered quickly, "Friend's call me Meg. At least it's what I think they'd call me if I had any." A crease of confusion marred his handsome face, and Meg decided to change the subject, "You got a name to go along with all those rippling pectorals?"

The man hesitated, than started to stammer, causing Meg to lift her eyebrow in amusement –he was cute, in the innocent farmboy sort of way. "Are you always this articulate?"

"Hercules!" he choked out finally, but already Meg was making her way to the street, hoping again to hail a cab.

"'Herc', huh?" she smiled to herself, glancing back at him, "I think I like _Wonder Boy_ better."

The crease deepened, but he just went on talking, trying to keep his cool, "So how did you get caught up with, uh…"

"Ass-hole with a badge?" she lifted her arm up to a cab with its light on, but it drove past her. "You know how they are, thinking 'no' means 'yes', and 'get lost' means 'take me –I'm yours!'" Seeing that she had lost him entirely, she noticed the short man from earlier who got a free-show, she jabbed her thumb in his direction, "I'm fairly certain Pee-Wee Morris there can explain it to you."

The shorter man stopped at her insult, turning a deep shade of red in anger –but the two ignored him. Hercules watched as Meg lifted her arm again and successfully hailed down a cab. Opening the door, she heard him stutter around before telling her to wait. She turned to see him lift something from the ground. "You don't want to forget your, uh… thing."

Meg gave him a warm smile, one that actually reached her eyes "That's not mine," she said, and entered the cab, watching through the tinted windows as his shoulders slumped, biting her bottom lip, she rolled down her window to call out to him, "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, _Wonder Boy_."

Hercules perked up as he spun to see her roll her window back up and the cab pull away from the curb. Hercules had never met a woman quite so confusing like her before…

* * *

Meg punched the button for the top floor the minute she entered the lift, slipping out of her heels and leaning against the wall as the doors shut, she began to think of all that had transpired. She hadn't even realized how sober she was until she had entered the cab. Probably it was the pissy cop that snapped her out of her drunken stupor, or maybe the whole feeling sorry for herself, or maybe it was both –it didn't matter though, she was never going to touch the stuff alone again. Meg was a lot of things, but a pathetic, drunk, depressive bitch was not one of them.

The doors of the lift opened, and Meg pushed herself off the wall and made her way to her loft. She hated to admit it, but she liked her loft very much. She didn't want to admit to liking it mostly because Hades had been the one to pick it out and purchase it for her. One of the many things he went out of his way to do for her. She never said thank you to him for it –just took the keys and shoved him out. She also would never admit that he either got her, or had good taste, but her loft was the only place she could ever feel comfortable in: the only place she could ever actually let down her walls and unscrew the careful mask she had placed –of course, she swept the place for bugs and hidden cameras first before ever deciding to call it 'home', it was purchased and picked out by Hades after all.

Sliding her key and turning the knob she pushed open her door. Dropping her shoes and leaning against her door the darkness engulfing around her. She felt the need for a long hot shower, and then sleep until next week. Shower first. She made her way to the spiral stair case that led to the bedroom, stopping as she saw a dim light emanate from above her. She huffed through her nose, and stomped her way up her stairs, knowing full well who it could be –who else had the balls to break into a person's home and make himself all sorts of comfy?

Sure enough, as her head cleared the floor and she could make out the figure lounging effortlessly on her bed, there Hades laid, legs propped up, leaning against the headboard with his hands behind his head, and his damned shoes neatly placed at the foot of _her_ bed. His eyes were closed, but he smiled as she entered the room, she made no effort to mask her entrance, and annoyance.

"Good evening, my sweet, my darling," he opened his eyes to stare at her, "My little _nutmeg_."

Oh how that nickname made her cringe. She stayed where she was at the stairs, watching as he looked her up and down, eyes lingering at her chest. She gave him a sarcastic smile, "Take a picture, it lasts longer."

Hades grinned as he met her eyes, "Just admiring that stain on your beautiful Chanel blouse."

Meg looked down, she almost forgotten her run in with the pervy-goat man. She sighed, "It's the latest fashion statement in Paris –didn't you know?"

"Well, just goes to show how incredibly lazy the fashion students these days are."

"As much as I love standing here exchanging pleasantries with you –I want to go to sleep, so what the hell are you doing here, Hades?" Meg sneered at him, she had lost her patience and in a way their game of pull and push –but she was tired, and he was just the icing on the top of her very, very bad day.

Hades swung his legs off the bed and stood up, walking towards her. His hand lightly brushed against her as he plucked his black blazer from the railing she was leaning on. She watched him as he produced his phone and pulled up a picture of the black-haired man who gave her a very exasperating time at the bar. Suddenly things began to click together.

"You rotten bastard," she growled at Hades, who was now grinning in triumph at her, "You set the whole thing up! Were you and Adonis in cahoots the whole time? Or was this one grand scheme to screw me over some more?"

Hades gave a deep and pained sigh, and put his phone back in his pocket, "Put the claws away, kitten. This ain't some plot to screw you over," he pulled out his pack of cigarettes looking as if he were debating whether he should smoke them or not, he put it back.

"Then what the hell are you playing at by sending that cop after me?" Meg crossed her arms watching Hades with an accusing stare.

"One of my dirty cops grew a damned conscience and I needed another one in my pocket," Hades shrugged, and at that moment Meg wanted to slap that stupid grin off his face.

"Poor Hades, too chicken shit to bait his dinner himself," Meg replied with venom. She moved past him, giving up on any hopes of taking a shower –but he reached for her wrist, and she winced when she felt the stinging pain from his touch. People just couldn't stop reaching for her freaking wrist.

Hades looked down, and pulled up her sleeve, exposing the purpling flesh on her wrist. His eyes flashed with emotions she couldn't put her finger on before he went to the cool easy expression of shutting down his emotions. He raised her bruised wrist to his lips and gave a whisper of a kiss along her flesh.

"So, my pet, is there a reason why I don't have the cop calling to work for me?"He purred –it was the same damn purr that made her involuntarily shiver with lustful need; and matched with that damn devilish smile, she felt herself come undone to the control that was all Hades –and it pissed her off to no end. He pulled her closer to him gently, and she went willingly. He lightly began to trail his fingers up her arms, making her fight a soft sigh from escaping her lips.

She refused to give in –so instead she spoke, her voice came out raspy despite her better judgment, "I got held up."

"Hm, is that so?" he's hands found themselves unbuttoning her shirt slowly; one button at a time, "No doubt the story behind the ruin of your very pretty and very _expensive_ blouse."

She fought not to move as he jerked her shirt from her jeans, and slid it off her –making sure that his hands smoothed their way across her now exposed skin. "Some guy came between me, and your brainless muscle head."

One of Hades' hands slid down to the small of her naked back, and pulled her to his body, lightly pressing her to his silken shirt, and giving her no choice but to wrap her arms around him as he dove for that one spot on her neck that just seemed to make her knees give out –he playfully nipped at that particular spot, earning him a shuddering sigh from his reluctant prey.

"Guy?"he questioned against her skin.

"Yes," came out a horse reply. "He came in with this innocent farmboy routine that was easy to see through in a hot second." She hugged him tighter as he began to trail kisses down her neck, his other hand squeezed her hip in anticipation of her reaction. "Some guy named Hercules," she all but gasped.

Hades' lips stopped their kisses, and she felt his entire body go stiff. She blinked through her lust, and it gave her a moment to realize that Hades was about to lose his cool. His hands came quicker than she could react, painfully pulling her chin to force her to look up at him. His eyes held that murderous stare that he reserved for his two ass-kissing morons, Pain and Panic. It was a stare she had never hoped to be on the receiving end of, but she tried not to let the fear she felt grip her.

"What, m'dear, was that name again?"

She looked back at him, not squirming, or giving into her instinct to shrink away. She held her ground and looked back at him defiantly, "Hercules."

His grip tightened, and suddenly she was in the damned restaurant again, except this time it was her face that was going to be bruised. Something in her face must have told him she wasn't going to play helpless, because the next thing she knew his lips were on hers. It was as if he were trying to take out his frustrations on her mouth and lips. There wasn't a damn thing about it that was at all arousing. What was it about Meg that made people think she was just a goddamn sack they could just toss, kick and punch? She shoved him back, and she shoved him back hard, causing him to grip the railings behind him to keep him from falling.

"Get out," she growled at him, her anger only matching his. There was no way in hell she was going to be tossed around.

Hades gave a very dangerous smile –she had a moment to reflect on the stupidity of her actions, but shrugged it off; she was this far in, why bother to back down now? If she was going to stoke the fire, might as well jump in and burn with it.

"Ballsy, are we?" Hades sneered.

"I said: Get. Out," she reached for his jacket to throw at his face, but both his hands were on her arms, the pressure of his grip causing her to gasp in pain. He dragged her up until she was level with his face. In that moment, Meg felt true fear as she realized that he was getting a very satisfying hard-on from her pain, and being the cause of her pain.

"I don't believe you're in any position to be giving me commands, _nutmeg_," Hades had this wicked glint in his eyes, the kind of glint that people got when they were about to do something unpredictable. "You're leash is wound so tightly around my finger that I can easily choke you with it. Don't ever forget that."

Meg's fear had her shaking, had her blood to go cold, and her breathing to hitch up as she tried not to whimper as his grip began to crush her slender arms that she was sure he was imagining was her throat. Meg was always proud of herself for never showing her fear outwardly. But when faced with Hades and his violent rage tantrums; Meg couldn't hide her despair. She wanted to leave, to just go and never look back, but he still had her in his death grip. So in his death grip he was shoving her to the bed and throwing her on it.

Meg watched timidly as Hades yanked off his tie and threw it to the side, his eyes were still filled with silent rage, and his jaw was set in a way that showed that he was clenching his teeth –but all sense of the anger that was there just moments ago seemed to be ebbing away from his body. She realized that she could have taken this time to fight and run, but she knew that it wouldn't have helped her cause –so instead she was left to lay there and watch as he placed a hand on either side of her, hovering above. She flinched as he involuntarily raised a hand to stroke her face, fingers lingering were they clutched her in anger. Hades' eyes softened a bit before slowly his blank mask slid into place. His lips fell upon hers for a second time that night, but this kiss was slow, gentle and deep, as if he were using his lips to apologize for hurting her. A flurry of emotions raced through her mind, and her heart began to beat hard as she tried to at least catch one strong sentiment. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry. She be damned if she cried in front of Lucifer himself.

* * *

**A/N:** This was, probably one of my longest chapters, and one that I am fairly proud of. I don't know how you guys are going to react to this Hades/Meg development, but I always imagined him being her pimp -so to speak. My inspiration for the end of this particular chapter was drawn from a book by one of my favorite authors Sara Manning called _Unsticking_ and my all time favorite movie _Pretty Woman_. Except this is no fairy-tale story. All in all I loved writing this chapter. Another note; I absolutely love how Hercules and Meg first met in the movie, so I had to do my own variation and modern twist to it. It makes me smile to see how sweetly I pulled it out. Of course since there is no such thing as River Guardian Centaur in reality, I had to make do with Gaston, which sort of makes things run smoothly!

As for the opening quote, it's actually song lyrics from a movie soundtrack to one of my favorite anime that's series soundtrack actually helped me write a majority of these chapters (yes, this and Daft Punk, Eric Clapton, Amy Winehouse, Nujabes, Blink-182, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Sarah Vaughn, Billie Holiday, and the scores to Pirates of the Caribbean, Sherlock Holmes, Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit). Just so you know, the music I listen help set the mood for each character. Each character is different, just like each genre of songs.

One of my most avid readers -my roommate- has been pestering me for an update. Just the other day she barged into my room without knocking and demanded that I write another chapter -then she left without closing my door. So I barged into her room without knocking and demanded that she do character development like she said she would when we were talking about making this into a comic -and I left with the common courtesy of closing her door. And as sure as I am posting this chapter, she drew a profile of Mulan. If anyone wants to check it out, it's on my deviantArt page. Link here: art/Gachette-Noir-Mulan-Hua-380759765 It's not much, but I'm fairly proud of her, and hope that she seriously stopped goofing around and get to concentrating on her summer classes!

To my other avid readers who don't barge into my room demanding I update, I thank you so much for your support! **Avril Lambert** I am constantly looking forward to your reviews! And **Phoebe** I'm happy that you haven't given up on checking for updates! To everyone else who has just recently followed and favorited, thank you! It means the world to me! **Suzrenma**, my darling, on the dusty, sandy roads of Egypt, I'm dead serious about that Twinkie. I love you all, and keep on reviewing.

Disclaimer: I disclaim.


	10. Interlude: Spira, Spera

A little girl with nothing wrong/ Is all alone  
Eyes wide open  
Always hoping for the sun/ And she'll sing her song to anyone  
That comes along  
-_Seven Years_ by Norah Jones  
A Chapter dedicated to Melvin and SM-L.  
My adventure seekers.

Interlude for the Lucky One: _Spira, Spera._

The other children always used hateful words with him. Each phrase and syllable slicing into him with the sharp sword like tongues of children –in which they spoke with sick smiles placed widely on their faces. Their words had hurt, they had bled him of everything he had until finally he burrowed himself deep into a seclusion that left him feeling safe and free of harm of the sick smiles. This had taught him the truth of his placement in life. He had no friends. He had no family. He had nothing, but his imagination. So one day the priest had given him a block of wood and taught him how to carve. So he carved himself friends. He named them Victor, Hugo and Laverne. They kept him company. They told him that he was great person meant for greater things. They were kind, loving and caring –and in the attic room of the orphanage, with the large windows overlooking the steeple of the church, they became a family in the dusty wooden floors with the growing shadows. And through time that was enough for him.

They told him that his parents (or whoever had him in their care) had abandoned him a few yards away of the orphanage of Notre Dame. He had no note, no basket and no blanket to keep him warm against the cutting chills of the setting sun of dusk all those years ago. A man (a kind man, as he had so graciously referred to him) had stumbled upon him on his way to church and he left him in the care of the priest who ran the orphanage. Together, the man and the priest had named him Quasimodo Sunday, naming him for the day in which they had found him: The eighth day from Easter Sunday. At least that is what he was told, but the children with the sick smiles said that his name actually meant "almost of standard measure". But the priest had told him to ignore the children. The priest told him he was a unique child meant for greater things –Easter was, after all, the celebration of something wonderful. And through time that was enough for him.

The man who had found him would visit him every week. These weekly visits would consist of "talks". Mostly of what he had done that day, what he had learned and if everything was well in his life. He would tell the man of the children of the sick smiles, of his friends, and what he was taught. The man would give him advice to ignore the children, and to embrace what he truly was –it was the best way to get the children with the sick smiles to stop picking on him. He would never truly be accepted by them, the man had more than insinuated, but that did not mean he should deny himself of the truth. The man always reminded him that if he was never that cool Sunday evening, he would be dead. The man had told him that he was unwanted by society and if it wasn't for him, Quasimodo would have no roof over his head, no clothes on his back and no food in his stomach. "Be grateful for the life that God has let you live," the man had told him. "You do not need these so called 'friends' to keep you company. They are lies, and God does not look too kindly upon lies."But Quasimodo would not listen, and silently his friends would be kept close his company. The man would never have to know, for they gave him strength that he never could. And through time that was enough for him.

A time had come for Quasimodo to move on from the dusty floors of the attic that over looked the steeples of the church of Notre Dame. So the man had decided that he live in his own apartment that gave a beautiful view of the steeples of the church he had once called home. Victor, Hugo and Laverne had gone with him, and they made a comfortable home in an apartment with water-stained ceilings and broken walls. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough for him. There were -after all- no children with the sick smiles and the sword like tongues. And through time that was enough for him.

The man would continue his weekly visits, but this time he would insist that Quasimodo not leave the apartment. People would not take kindly to him in the world, and if he thought the children with the sick smiles were worse, people in the world would be so much crueler. No, it was better if he moved about at night –where it was more difficult to be seen. So at night Quasimodo would wander. He explored the streets of the city, and taught himself to climb through the roofs and walls, peeking every once in a while into windows of families. He would feel a pang of jealousy when he saw the sweet joyful smiles, or the terrible tears or even the stares of adoration and love. Laverne, the motherly one of the three, would simply smile and tell him that he was meant for greater things, and that someday, somewhere, he would experience something ten times more wonderful than what he saw of other people. And for a time, it was enough for him.

The man's visits had become more frequent, and he had what he called "jobs" for Quasimodo. Mostly, these jobs would consist of him stealing into people's homes or offices and listening to conversations, then he would later go home and wait for the man to come to him for the relay of what he had heard. The man would reward Quasimodo with gifts of food, or trinkets. They were never much, but it was treasured by Quasimodo just the same. Watching the people in his dark shadows, he realized that people never treasured what they had. They were always yearning for what someone else had or what they lacked. He couldn't understand this. He came from a world filled with ridicule and scorn -so when he watched as a girl would flee in tears over the wrong dress, or a man become livid his neighbor bought something brand new; he couldn't understand how they would not just embrace the knowledge that they were a live and living joyfully under the sun. For this was not becoming enough for him.

Life was funny that way, he supposed, a person with everything will always be unsatisfied it seemed, yet a person with nothing –well a person with nothing, learned to become content. Through time he had accepted this fact, but as he grew and he saw, he was learning that what he had was not enough. Although, he put on a face with a sweet smile, a small words of disparagement of himself, he realized the growing passion that bubble within him, and for a time that was enough; but he was slowly realizing how much it truly wasn't. Quasimodo was just like those people in the world. He could treasure what he had, but he wanted more –maybe not in the materialistic sense, but his greed to be out there with the world was growing apparent. And just like that –it wasn't enough.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes. A very short chapter. I was trying to give it as much justice as the one before it, but I decided that _this_ was for the best. It didn't have a lot of detail or dialogue, but it certainly gave the emotional pull that things just don't seem to be getting any better. The way I wrote this chapter sort of brings me back to the days where I used to read Anne Rice novels and start writing deep and analytical first person stories. They always ended with a bitter sweet ending -I always wanted to make my readers cry. Reading this over I feel like I'm losing my touch. It has given me the incentive to try harder though! So hurray for inadvertently pushing myself to try harder! Good job self! I'm also letting you guys know that I'm going on another trip, so I won't be back for a while. But I will keep a notebook with me and write little goodies and chapters with me. I might updated when I get back, or take another two weeks... it all depends on my need to look at a computer.

I realized that it is an ongoing theme with Disney to have their characters strive to have more. And in turn, great outcomes will occur. You cannot cheat this, and you most certainly cannot pick an easy way out. You may have help a long the way, but in the end -wonderful things will happen. I certainly loved these messages that Disney put forth. The strive to do better. To become better. To have greater goals. It is certainly a message that keeps impressionable children from sitting at home and doing nothing.

"Adventure is out there!" (Yes, **Suzerenma** that was for you) And it is certainly an adventure you must grasp yourself, no matter the shape and/or size. I feel that Quasimodo is the best interpretation of wanting more, not only is it stemmed from the "deformities" that was never really his fault to begin with, but also because he was always being bullied into not doing what he truly wanted to. The original Victor Hugo story of it was supposed to be the story of how _superficial_ beauty tends to twist the minds of society that we can no longer see _true_ beauty for what it is regardless of it's package. And although Disney was working on the whole acceptance angle of it all (whatever my illusion of Pheobus and Esmeralda is forever ruined... Thanks general curiosity of the truth and Victor Hugo), I'm happy that they showed Quasimodo's struggles for the choices to do what is right. Needless to say, _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ was not only my all-time favorite Disney movie, but it is also one of my favorite novels. Moral of this all: Bullies suck and don't let them tell you otherwise! Also the name of the chapter _Spira, Spera_ means "Breathe, Hope" and that is a quote from the book. It may be small, but it speaks volumes.

Thank you so much to my readers! **Phoebe, Avril Lambert** thank you for your constant reviews and love. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter just as much as the last. **Demi Brackensick** thank you for discovering me and taking the time to write a review for each chapter. **HaileyBaileyOne**, thank you for the long review and even longer PMs! I'm sorry I couldn't get back to you! And of course to **Suzerenma** my ever constant rock. Welcome back to being state-side, and I know you are having massive Egypt withdrawals, but I've missed you. Please don't give up on me just yet! And don't worry. I haven't fallen off the face of the earth... yet.

I don't know why I keep writing these. I mean after ten, it's quite obvious that I don't want to take these characters as my own, and that this is purely fan-based... Oh that's right; it's because it's fun. So yeah. Disclaimer.


	11. With the Testimonial of a Weak Girl

"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."  
― Albert Camus

Chapter 10: With the Testimonial of a Weak Girl with a Lion's Heart.

Pushing herself through the heavy haze, her limbs felt as if they had weights tying them down as they lazily made their way towards the exit. Somewhere in the distance –or maybe in front of her, she wasn't sure- music was pounding in her ears. She felt someone's hand wrap itself around her wrist -or was it her arm?- and she forcefully shoved whoever it was aside with sluggish movements. She didn't even bother to turn to see who it was as she made her lethargic procession to the exit, each step she took images changed before her. One step; the world turned blue and people around her dance wildly. Two steps; the world blurs to pink, and a couple to her right, lodged in a far corner, were doing what looked like nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with sex. Three steps; suddenly the world is dosed in orange and before her were stairs that she must ascend to leave this lusting and color changing environment. She pushed herself up the stairs and before she knew it; the cold night air nipped at her bare exposed skin waking her from the effects of the drug, causing her to sober her mind.

Ariel Haufruen groaned as she realized that sobering up before she was home was not a very good idea, it was actually a bad idea. At least if she was drunk and going on a "trip" she could steal into one of her sisters' rooms (at least the ones still living at home) and snuggle with them while they just gave a small sigh-like laugh at their baby sister and her drunken woes and cuddle her to sleep like their mother used to. Sober; they'd kick her out on her ass and tell her to get over herself. Besides; if she was sober her daddy would have the whole weight of the world bearing down on her and she would actually remember the day after and have the conscious to feel guilty about it. So -no- sobering up before she got home was not a good idea, but she had no choice.

She looked around wondering where the hell a cab could possibly be and the apprehension of there actually being none on this seedy side of town had made her want to just stop and cry in frustration. _Stupid Jasmine!_ She cursed her best friend for dragging her out here in the _poor_ part of town and then abandoning her before the night was even halfway through. It wasn't the first time this had happened either, not that Ariel was completely blameless for it all, she did keep hanging out with her. But being hopped up on party drugs and alcohol and then _abandoned_ was not her idea of a fun night –despite what Jasmine may have thought.

_She's probably off somewhere sucking face with a DJ or some poor sap who actually thinks he has a chance_, Ariel thought with sinning glee. Jasmine wasn't a whore, at least not in the sense that she'd just give it up to anyone –she was just… free spirited –if that was a nicer way of putting it. Wild-nightly-abandoning-escapades may have ended all the same (Ariel wondering around, stranded and barefoot with one of her many seven hundred Louboutin shoes in hand) but they never started the same. The night before last it was a wild, chaotic party at the Hatter's, the night before that had been the two double Ds (drinks and dancing) on the _Jolly Roger_, and last night was a lingerie party in a vacated loft on the real estate market. So there really was no question as to why she let Jasmine drag her all around the city at odd hours of the night; the real question was why she never failed to leave her side every night.

_I need more party friends_, Ariel sighed, fishing through her designer clutch for her phone. She decided to call her last resort –Sebastian.

She hated to call the great Horatio Pelonius Ignatius Crustaceus Sebastian; mostly because all he did was gripe at her misconduct and how her sisters –well, with the exception of Adella and Alana, but those two were entirely _different_ circumstances all together- never acted out they way she did, and then continue to go on about how her "fun" could hurt her father's ever growing campaign. Ariel would always tune him out, but it was the looks of disappointment that always stuck with her. He was her father's advisor in business -and now that her father began his political career, he was his advisor for that too. He had been by her father's side since before he ever married her mother, and he was like a second father to all the girls -especially Ariel. He was the guy the girls would call when they didn't want to feel the wrath of their father, and he would help the girls out as best he could but not before giving them an earful of the recklessness of their actions.

Ariel's fingers found her phone and pulled it out. She pushed down on her lock button to wake it up, only to be greeted with a black unresponsive screen -she pushed it for a second time to get the same black screen to look up at her. At this point, Ariel almost did start to cry, she could feel a familiar sting start from her nose to her eyes as her vision was beginning to blur. She was abandoned, alone, coming off her trip and a little drunk still –and all because she answered Jasmine's call! The thought of using public transportation left her mind as quickly as it had entered it. She was wearing a $600 dress –never mind the fact that complete weirdoes and people who smell like piss rode public transportation- it was just unheard of for a girl of her breeding to take such drastic measures. Besides, she was never that _daring_ as Jasmine.

Fighting to let a tear slid from her carefully made up face, Ariel wandered –hoping that eventually she would find some place public so she could find a phone. At that moment, she didn't mind the grief Sebastian was going to give her; she just wanted the comforts of home.

Rounding a corner, something slammed into her hard. Falling to the floor, she bit back a snippy reply and looked up to see who had bumped into her. She wasn't sure if it was the after effects of the party drugs, or fatigue; but barely covered in a tattered grey hoodie was a face so distorted that she screamed without thinking. Her scream seemed to alarm him, for she saw panic that could only be mirrored in her eyes, quickly he reached for her and she tumbled back, scrambling across the dirty ground with her hands, still facing him and whimpering.

"Shh, shh," he said in the smallest voice. His face did not change -and her whimpers calling up more tears.

"Get away from me," she screeched, and tried to wave off another advance of his hands. But rough skin clasping her hand told her he had managed to catch her hand, then she started to kick, her legs only seeming to hit air. With all her struggling she barely noticed her assailant become distracted.

Not realizing he had dropped her hand and ran –she fell to a hopeless heap and cried. Ariel was quite certain that if she wasn't hopped up on party drugs and alcohol, and already feeling sorry for herself, she would not be crying –but she was, and that was bringing the sting of tears to her teal blue eyes. If only Jasmine hadn't of left her…

* * *

She never thought that she would be so happy to be sitting in a police station. After her little episode in the alley, Ariel had been whisked away in the back of a cop car (at least she thought it was –it was midnight blue 2012 Dodge Charger complete with sirens and the flashing lights) by her savior; Detective Eric Saylor, a very handsome man with a dazzling melt in your socks smile and his partner, Detective Mulan Hua a beautiful woman with a sense of honor and dedication that Ariel found admirable, yet exhausting.

They had lead her to a room she was sure wasn't the interrogation room, because it looked like nothing like the ones on TV. No two way mirrors, metal chairs and table, or even a sound proof wall. Instead it had a plush worn out leather sofa and two matching leather chairs around a wooden coffee table, as well as an assortment of partially dead plants and dirty coffee mugs. They had left her in there, Detective Hua coming in once to offer her something warm to drink, and smiling warmly when Ariel could only nod and say the word tea.

Ariel had a lot of time to think while she was left alone waiting for her tea. She had to remember to _thank_ Jasmine the next time she saw her. After all, her sister Alana always told her that it was never one hell of a night unless she found herself in the custody of the police –and boy, was her sister right. In less than six hours, Ariel has snuck out, drank, got high, dance to her heart's content, left abandoned with no way home and no way to contact home, attacked and finally brought in by the police. She expected her heart to beat wildly and hope the floor to open where she sat or the world to end, just so she didn't have to face her father –but it didn't, instead her heart was beating steady, and she had no hopes of falling off the face of the earth. Maybe it had something to do with what the dashing Detective Saylor had said to her. He gave her words that somehow made her feel stronger when there was nothing for her to say and panic plain in her eyes. She supposed, as the effects of the drugs wore off, that really, she had nothing to be afraid about, funny enough she could recall something comforting in the eyes of the man she thought was trying to attack her, almost as if they were anything but vile and malicious…

"Here's your tea, Ms. Haufruen," she heard Detective Saylor say from behind her. She turned to see him handing her an outdated, powder green coffee mug with the words reading "Best Father of the Year" chipping away slightly. She took her mug, astonished that it was lukewarm, not bothering to take a sip, she set it on the table before her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and watched him as he sat on the sofa in front of her, setting down a manila folder on the same table as the mug. He didn't open it at first; he just sat there with an unreadable look on his face staring at her with his piercing grey eyes as if just by staring he'd gather all the information he needed. Ariel only blinked her large eyes, unsure how to proceed.

A moment of silence, and suddenly they both open their mouths to speak.

"Ms. Haufruen-"

"Detective Saylor…"

Ariel gave a polite smile, "I'm sorry, you first, Detective."

Detective Saylor gave a small smile and reached for the folder, "I know that you have been through a lot, Ms. Haufruen-"

"Please, just call me Ariel," Ariel interrupted humbly. She was tired of being talked to so formally. She just wanted something normal.

Detective Saylor nodded, and spoke slowly, "Alright, Ariel, can you walk me through the events of your night again?" When he saw the worried look on her face he rushed his words, "I just want to make sure that we didn't miss out on any details."

"I swear I didn't leave anything out…" her voice was quiet, but she was teetering on desperation, she reached for her mug with shaking hands, wanting something –anything to do but just sit there.

Seeing her despair, Detective Saylor, reached for her hands on her mug, stilling them. The warmth was comforting, and when she looked up to meet his eyes, there was something even more comforting in them.

"It's alright, Ariel. I know you didn't do anything wrong," his voice was calm, collected, and soothing. It was like the waves that would splash and lap upon the pier at her father's work at the docks

Gulping, she stared at the cup and recounted her actions, "I was just getting out of the club, looking for a way home –because my phone had died… Then this person, I couldn't see his face properly, it was sort of hiding within the hood, he ran into me. I started panicking, and I think he was trying to get me to calm down –but I fought," she looked up at her interviewer then away, shrugging her shoulders, "then he was gone, and you showed up."

Detective Saylor nodded, and moved his hands from hers, the cold rushing in to erase the lingering warmth. He opened the manila folder and there staring back at her were the eyes in the hood. Ariel gulped again, leaning back and folding her arms tightly around her.

"Is this the man that ran into you?"

Studying the features, Ariel nodded, "Yes."

Smiling, the detective stood, gathering the folder, "Thank you. Now I believe it is your turn."

Ariel did not respond, at least not right away, and not what she herself thought she would be saying, "Are you going to arrest him, Detective?"

He looked her straight in the eyes, he gave himself a few moments before speaking, "We have reason to believe that he is a witness to a case that my partner and I are working on."

"So that means you're going to arrest him," Ariel pressed again. When the good detective did not answer, she shook her head a quick twitch of her head, "He… he doesn't seem like a bad person."

Saylor raised his eyebrows, "And you know this how?"

Ariel looked him straight in the eyes, defiance and unwavering, "His eyes. I was too scared to realize it, but… he had kind eyes…"

Exhaling through his nose, he opened his mouth to speak, but the door opened, and Detective Hua poked her head in, "Hey, her ride is here."

Ariel shot up immediately, gulping down her heart and making her way to the door and the doom that her poor ears would soon endure. She stopped short of the door and turned to the male detective, putting out her hand, "Thank you for so much, Detective Saylor, I hope you're able to solve your case."

Saylor smiled and took her hand, holding it gently, "Eric," he corrected. He pulled away first, reaching into his pocket and producing a card, "And if you have anything else, or any problems, don't hesitate to call me."

With a curt nod Ariel reached for the card and smiled as she left the room. She clutched on tightly to the card, as she spotted Sebastian who looked as if he was about to bring the wrath of Hell upon her. Gulping slightly and holding her head up high, she glanced behind her to the Detective with the stormy grey eyes, and his partner, they did not look like they wanted to trade placed with her as they eyed Sebastian and all his fury.

"Do you understand how worried we all were?" Sebastian started when she was within arm's length. He shoved a jacket towards her and began to stride off in fury, Ariel tried to keep up, stealing one last glance behind her and catching Detective Eric Saylor's eyes. He gave her a nod of encouragement before the door to the precinct closed in her face. She hesitated to follow, the fear that was absent before now, was coursing through her –registering the need for a hole to open and swallow her up.

"Ariel!" Sebastian's voice stung the air, and she closed her eyes trying to remember the words that had given her strength before.

_"Nothing will harm you, unless you let it,"_ was what the good detective had told her, she smiled as her heart began to slow to a steady pace and the pits of her stomach did not feel like it was about to jump out of her skin. She can do this –after all, it didn't kill her, it just made her feel stronger.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi guys! Miss me? I hope not. I know I've been gone for a long while, but chaos just kept coursing through my life. Also, since fall is here, so are my show, which I spent a lot of time re-capping on. Completely tangential, but I'm super excited for _Once Upon a Time_, I can't wait to see Colin O'Donoghue in his pirate get up. He makes me feel all warm and tingly when he dresses in period clothing, like that one episode of the _The Tudors_. Hmm. Yesh, I will so be looking forward to watching my TV Shows...

But ANYWAYS! Here we go. I have finally finished this chapter that I started way back in like... Well, when I finished Eric's chapter, really. I know Ariel comes off weak at first but I wanted her to grow into her strength and her ability to do what she feels is right. I never saw the other _Little Mermaid_ movies, I just always felt with a character like her, strength is given through time. Lots of redemption and curving ones stubbornness is involved. Needless to say, I don't think Ariel is going to go out again, at least not if she thinks she's going to get ditched by her best friend again. Goodness that would suck. I know that it doesn't seem to have a whole lot to do with the plot, but just bear with me, my darling readers. These things take time...

I hope that I haven't lost you guys yet, and I hope you guys are still reading. For this I truly and utterly apologize for not getting to it all in time! Please don't think that you can't PM because you can. Love you all!

Gosh, if only I had all the money in the world to own these characters in these exciting tales. But I don't. So I'll just stick to the fan-writing...


	12. For the Ones You Love Pt I

Many dreams come true and some have silver linings  
I live for my dream and a pocketful of gold.  
Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missing  
Many many men can't see the open road.  
Many is a word that only leaves you guessing  
Guessing 'bout a thing you really ought to know, ooh!  
You really ought to know...

-Led Zepplin _Over the Hills and Far Away_

Chapter 11: For the Ones You Love Pt. 1

She stared straight up, the glass of the high-rise glinted like diamonds in the sun. Belle LeRoux gave herself a moment to think, fear paralyzing her as she pondered her choices in the last 72 hours. Eons ago –that's what it seemed to her as she recalled scanning her keycard more than once to push open the door to her work as she balanced books, her computer and a cup-holder tray that carried three hot beverages- but this had only taken place three days ago. Now she was standing in front of the glass doors of a fancy looking high-rise and she was a swirl of emotions, each one replacing the other as quickly as it had came. First morose engulfed her, if she took a step forward she would have to say good-bye to her life, to everything she held dear and start anew. She felt the excitement of an adventure simmer within her, though. She couldn't deny that this could be the new something that she had always longed to experience! And then there was the trepidation, what if it was nothing she expected it to be? What if everything that could possibly go wrong did? All these emotions were whirling within her and she couldn't pinpoint on which one she could settle on. She closed her eyes, and the image of her father popped up, his wild salt and peppered hair, his green eyes fixed in complete concentration and determination as he worked. This was for him, all for him… Opening her hazel colored almond shaped eyes Belle gulped down the fear, excitement and her sadness. Firmly set in her convection, Belle readjusted the bag at her shoulder and took a step forward, thanking the doorman who opened the door for her.

* * *

_Three days ago_

Belle had found herself floating through the alcoves of the new shipment of ancient books procured by Clayton Jones and Jane Porter from England. Belle's job was to carefully look through these little treasures and catalog every distinct detail before it was sent to be refurbished and then presented to potential buyers. There was nothing she reveled in more than immersing herself in the dusty archives; something about the musk smell of the crinkling pages gave her the secure feeling of being wrapped in a warm blanket. Sometimes, when it was very, very quiet, and the moment was just right, she could swear she could hear a symphony coming from each of the books. Each word was a note splayed across the pages that doubled as bars. Together they melded together like instruments in an orchestra and suddenly every chapter became an overture or the deafening crescendo. The undeniable burst of passion would course its way through Belle's veins from head to toe. It was a secretive sort of passion that she could not describe to anyone and a sort of passion that could not be quenched no matter how hard anyone could try. It was very easy to say that Belle loved her job very much.

"There you are!"

Belle jumped, pulling back into the reality and turning to see a button-nose, freckled-faced Rapunzel Kohl. Rapunzel was like the sun herself, with all its rays of sunshine and laughter. So when Belle saw her usual large green eyes were dim and pulled into a pensive look as she combed her fingers through her long blonde hair biting her bottom lip she took it as a hint that something was the matter.

"Is everything alright?" Belle asked not bothering to mask her concern. Rapunzel lived a stressful life and as of late, it only seemed to be getting worse.

Shaking her head, the golden curtain of hair covered her face. In slight aggravation she pushed it out of the way. "She's barking crazy!"

Nodding in sympathy, Belle gestured to the humidity fixed room that helped some of the older books stay intact as she looked over them. Rapunzel nodded, and made her way as Belle snapped on cloth gloves, grabbed a large blue volume as well as a smaller book and her laptop and followed.

Shutting the door, Rapunzel made her way to the seat that faced Belle's work bench, as Belle set the books and laptop down and began setting up her station. Without looking up she addressed her blonde friend, "So what happened?"

Growling, Rapunzel began to speak quickly like she always did when she was upset or excited, "So you know how this is my final year at the Art Academy? Well, I've been looking around for another job so I don't have to work here under _her_ anymore. So on Friday, one of my teachers –you know, my still life teacher- he really loved the sketch I did of Pascal, and he asked me for a few of the sketches and paintings I did; so I showed him. And he really, really, really enjoyed them-said I had real talent he hasn't seen since the seventies- and he told me that he has a friend who was visiting from London –imagine! Britain- who was curious about representing art students and actually putting them in art galleries and such. He wanted to show off my works, so I told him I had to think about it, but I would love to get in touch with the representative. So that night, I mulled it over, I mean, can you imagine me getting my works into a gallery, and maybe down the line owning my own? Well, I figure there was no harm in just meeting with her –oh yes, it was a she- so I called her and decided to set up an appointment to meet and discuss. It was then that mother overheard, and grabbed the phone from me to tell her I wasn't truly interested and hung up on her!" Rapunzel's eyes began to water, but when Belle -who was silently watching her as she spoke and hadn't moved since Rapunzel started talking- made a move to comfort her, Rapunzel put up her hand and shook her head as she took a deep shaky breath.

Belle waited for her friend to continue, watching her as she struggled to push down whatever she was feeling. It always surprised Belle, at how much Rapunzel could stay cheery, her mother was a real mood killer, especially when it had something to do with Rapunzel. The emotional abuse Gothel put her through just because she "loved" her, was enough to put any one through therapy. It was a bigger wonder how a woman like Gothel could ever raise such a bright girl like Rapunzel. But Rapunzel was a strong girl, and handled herself as her usual lively self.

Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Rapunzel began again, this time slower, as if trying to keep all the bad things at bay, "We had a fight. She told me that it was silly to get my hopes up, that I couldn't really be that good of an artist. She said that she needed me here, to restore the paintings for the gallery," she shook her head again, but did not continue.

Belle waited for a few moments before taking off her gloves completely and walked over to the girl, sitting beside her on another chair, "She's nuts if she thinks you're not a great, magnificent artist! Your drawings are amazing!" Belle gently pulled Rapunzel towards her so she could smooth back the curtain of hair that fell to cover her face, "I'm sure she just panicked, she probably isn't ready for you to go yet," Belle soothed.

"So… what? Because she's not ready for me to leave, I have to stay?" Rapunzel's laugh was bitter, something Belle was not accustomed to hearing from her. "I can't keep doing this forever, Belle. I can't be tucked away in the highest tower forever… I-I just can't."

Quietly watching, Belle felt the words awaken something within her that had lain dormant for years; the sense of never ending adventures, of one discovery after another -like in her books. The battle and the struggle the choices and paths to find good –and where did all this passion go? When did everyday mundane routines become her life? Was balancing acts while trying to swipe a key-card to get into work going to be her everyday battle? Sure, she was able to deal with her passion of books everyday –but was that enough?

"Then don't be tucked away," Belle's voice had surprised her and Rapunzel together. Smiling Belle took hold of her friend's hands, "You can do so much, and be so much more. Don't let her stop you. She's you're mother, which means that eventually she would understand."

"Understand what?" a cool voice caused Belle and Rapunzel to jump. At the door of the humidity fixed room was the topic of Rapunzel's despair; Gothel Khol was a tall and thin woman, her heavy lidded eyes were light green and glinted above a sharp prominent nose that gave away to a mouth with thin lips, which were now pursed together in a very disapproving line.

Rapunzel jumped from her seat, alarm in her face more than fear, "Mother!"

"Be a darling," Gothel addressed to her daughter with a pushed smile, "and get to looking over those new shipment of portraits that just came in. Calyton told me that one of them is in very bad form, and I would hate for it to go into the case looking like some child's finger painting…"

Rapunzel bowed her head low and with a quiet, "yes mother," she left the room stepping around Gothel who made no move to get out of the way –Rapunzel didn't even bother to take a glance back at Belle who now stood, and walked towards her work.

"Why, Gothel, you're hair looks absolutely tamed today," Belle began as she turned on her laptop to start her cataloging.

"Thank you much, dear," Gothel said stiffly; she took a sweep of the room, and the archives outside before settling her eyes on Belle once more, "Have you filed away the Victorian Atlas yet?"

"I have yet to get started on that," Belle started slipping on her gloves and going for the smaller volume she grabbed.

"That is supposed to be on display for a very, very interested buyer tomorrow," Gothel sneered.

Belle looked up at the woman; green eyes to hazel, "I'll get to it as soon as I can."

Lifting her eyebrow, Gothel's thin mouth twisted into a smirk, "It was supposed to be done yesterday. I hired you to put your nose to the books, not fill my daughter's head with your outlandish thinking."

Narrowing her eyes, Belle kept her mouth shut as Gothel spun and left the room, her heels snapping across the floor the very last thing she heard before her door sealed out any outside noise.

Sighing through her nose, and closing her eyes, Belle decided to look for that Atlas so to make her life easier.

Lunch could not have been a more welcoming sight. As Belle neatly tucked her laptop and the large Atlas in a spot on her desk, she grabbed her purse and made her way through the archives and straight to the office of the curator and her boyfriend; Milo J. Thatch.

"Yes, yes, I understand… no, that is actually illegal… I can't…" Milo struggled over the phone. Upon seeing Belle's arrival, he smiled weakly at her, and went back to his struggling conversation on the phone, "Well, is there any way that-" his face blanched, "No I suppose not… Alright, I understand… Yes, good day to you too, sir."

As Milo hung up the phone, Belle grabbed his scarf and jacket, folding them neatly in her forearm, "So I'm guessing the board denied you that expedition…"

Milo ran his hands through his short sandy blonde hair in an aggravated manner, and stood reaching for his jacket as he gave Belle a quick kiss of hello, "They find the idea of going on such an adventure to be… preposterous! Every University I call, every patron I visit, they just laugh in my face!"

"I'm sure you'd find someone eventually," Belle soothed, as she walked through the door Milo had walked to and opened for her. "The idea is amazing, and the data left over from your grandfather-"

"Is just the ranting and ravings of a very crazy old man, who died fifteen years ago because of a crazy old theory," Milo finished for her bitterly. Belle knew he didn't mean to sound so disenchanting –he normally wasn't- it was just that his dream and the dream of his grandfather of finding a lost city; a lost civilization was slowly being crushed with every rejection he received. Milo was always grateful for her constant support, but that could not bring him the resources he needed, and that was starting to pay a heavy toll on him.

"On the brighter side, you got the tickets for the Opera tomorrow night," Belle said cheerfully, "I can't wait to see Jack Skellington's variation of _Othello_, I hear…" That cheer soon deflated as she saw the look on Milo's face, it was one that Belle had recently became all too used to.

"You didn't get the tickets…" Belle began, not bothering to mask her disappointment.

Stopping in front of the stairs, and blocking Belle's path, Milo tried to smooth everything over with her, he took hold of her wrists with a desperate plea in his light brown eyes, "I'm sorry, I got all caught up last week, with someone who said he may be able to help, he ended up not having the funds…" he stopped himself, "It doesn't matter. What matters is I'll make it up to you. Treat you out to a nice cheesy burger and a well deserve foot rub."

Belle shook her head, and smiled. "It's fine. After all, there will always be more Operas. And I'd take a cheesy burger over that any day. The foot rub is just a bonus."

Relief washed over Milo's features, and Belle released herself from him and looped her arm through his, and leaned her head against his shoulder as they climbed the stairs for their hour long lunch date. But the nagging feeling of whether she was truly happy began to poke its doubt through her mind. Milo had his own dreams, and his own adventure that he was in search for, and Belle knew that his love for that was more than his love for her. She couldn't blame him though; she understood what it was like to dedicate yourself to one goal, after all, it was what her father had done.

Lunch was a blur, mostly of Milo explaining the way the language of the lost civilization of his worked. When their hotdogs were done, and the hot chocolates finished, they made their way back down to the basement of the gallery, Milo kissing her cheek and promising her pampering for the days to come. Smiling, as he retreated to his office, Belle started to move towards her own respected office when her phone began to ring.

Quickly, she pulled it out noting it to be her father. She wondered if her father had managed to burn off his eyebrows again, and was calling her to say that his latest project still had more work than e thought. He called her often with those type conversations, random as they were, she was grateful for her father's calls.

"_Papa_? _Ça va_" She began in French. But instantly she could something was off. Instead of the whirring and the clanking of machines, there was silence and just her father's voice.

"B-Belle?" his tone was quick, panicked. Belle stopped in her tracks her heart leaping from her chest.

"Papa? What's the matter?"

* * *

**A/N:** WHAT!? A CLIFF HANGER! *Shakes fist in fury* How _dare_ you!

Yeah, soo, not going to lie -this one is starting to get fun. Also, I'm a bit happy I was able to add a lyric quote from one of my favorite bands of all time. Did you know that a good majority of their songs written was inspired by Lord of the Rings? Ends up the band members were huge Tolkien fans. Man, I love Led Zeppelin. Also, a funny story: when I was writing this I kept spelling Rapunzel's name with an 'e' instead of an 'a' and since spell check doesn't believe in the poor salad green I had to ignore it like I do with all the names that it doesn't recognize, not realizing that I had spelled it wrong twenty-two times. So when I was doing some description research on the character I just sort of looked at the 'a' like it was the dumbest thing in the world, until I realized _I_ was wrong. So as punishment to omit it to memory, I went back and rewrote the name twenty-two times. Needless to say I won't make that mistake again. Repunzel... :)

But, yes: Belle. I hope you guys like this one as much as I am getting enjoyment out of writing it, because it's a two part chapter. I was thinking of writing it out as one whole chapter, but I figured -why spoil the fun? Let's make this a two part chapter. I guess in a way I wanted to show the drastic change between the life she sacrifices and the life she sacrifices it for. I realized that Belle is one of the most popular Disney heroines out there, and it makes total sense, she's the kind of girl that knows her own mind and no one can really tell her otherwise. She's a huge adventure seeker and possibly one of the smartest Disney girls out there (no offense to the others, but she really is...), I think Tiana comes to a close second. I'm going to continue to finish this chapter, because -let's face it- we were all waiting for Belle.

The cannon relationship between Belle and Milo is for you _**Suzerenma**_, only because you kept asking me if I was going to do one. I love you enough to write one in for you. A **HUMUNGOUS** thank you to _**Avril**_**_ Lambert_**for still showing your support after my three month disappearing act -I'm truly and deeply thankful that you're still reading, and for sharing my Captain Hook love. And for **singingintherain928**, for sending the love my way. I'm happy that you guys didn't hate how I portrayed Ariel in the last chapter. I don't know if I told you, but it was incredibly difficult for me. Like every other time I pull off writing something that doesn't come natural to me, I am so happy that I did. And I hope you guys love how I write Belle as much as the other characters. Please don't stop the reviews! I enjoy reading them and seeing what you guys have to say.

The point of a fanfiction is to be a fan and write fiction about what you're fanatic about -so, I guess, to clear it up, I seek no profit in writing this fanfic. Just the pure enjoyment of letting my mind run rampant.


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